The Way Back
by piccolina789
Summary: Set circa season 13, things are anything but simple between Grissom and Sara. Their marriage could be irreversibly broken. Can they find their way back to each other before it's too late? GSR.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **Well, it's been a while! I've been sitting on several half-started stories for months, so I figured it was high time to go ahead and publish one. I feel like there are so many things that can be done with where Sara and Grissom's relationship is at now, so I suppose this is my take!

Please leave a review and tell me what you think!

* * *

Sara Sidle was hoping for a quiet Tuesday night. She'd pulled a double, and her body was literally screaming for sleep by the time she walked through the front door to her townhouse. Hank was let out in the backyard instead of being walked, and breakfast, laundry and dishes were ignored so she could flop, face down, onto her mattress.

But the moment her head hit the pillow, sleep refused to come. She continued to lie there for the next five hours, the glowing digital numbers on the nightstand clock rolling by, hyper-sensitive to every noise swirling around outside. Dogs barked, horns honked, trains passed and by the time she heard the squeak of school bus wheels at the corner and the subsequent clamber of kids with backpacks running home for snack and homework and playtime, she huffed and pulled herself back out of bed, a total of about ten minutes of sleep clocked in. In two hours, walking back through the doors of the lab, her feet would be aching and her eyes twitching with tiredness, but that had become the new normal. She couldn't remember the last time she'd gotten a good night's sleep.

She put on an enormous pot of coffee, dragged herself into and out of the shower and checked her phone and e-mail, knowing it was fruitless. She realized she'd left Hank in the yard the entire time she'd been praying for sleep, and when she opened the door to let him back inside, he trotted right past her, clearly annoyed. He settled himself into the crate in the laundry room he never used instead of curling up on the couch and refused to come out, even after the clatter of dinner into his bowl Sara knew he heard. Add him to the list of living beings who refused to acknowledge her.

She dressed, didn't touch her curling hair or bother to put on any make-up. She downed two mugs of black coffee before pouring the rest into a travel mug and drove, in auto-pilot mode, back to the lab.

Nick and Greg were just turning out of the locker room as she headed in. They waved as she passed, their smiles not quite reaching her eyes. She saw Nick lean over to whisper something to Greg the second she was out of earshot. She sighed again. Even her two best friends were frustrated with her. Hell, she was frustrated with herself.

The coffee was still steaming, but she forced herself to drink it, the scalding liquid on her tongue strangely satisfying. She shrugged off her jacket and dropped her bag to the bottom of the locker. She was about to slam the door when she heard the chirp of her phone from her jacket pocket. She dug it out and found a message waiting for her. The call must have gone straight to voicemail, the horrible service she got in the lab.

"Hi. It's me," came her husband's voice. "Look, uh, I know it's been… it's been a rough couple of weeks. And I'm sorry we couldn't talk on our actual anniversary. But… I think we should talk. Give me a call when… whenever you want. I'm, uh, seven hours ahead of Vegas time. Okay, well, I'll speak with you soon. Bye, Sara."

Sara ended the call, feeling the stinging burn of tears as she squeezed her eyes shut. She felt sharp pains in her chest, like an invisible pair of hands was wrapped around her heart and squeezing at will.

It was so… formal. There wasn't a warm word or a term of endearment in sight. The thirty-second voicemail was the first time Sara had heard her husband's voice in a month. And that, more than anything, drained every last bit of effort she had left.

"Sara!"

Sara stiffened, fleetingly glad the tears hadn't made their way down her cheeks yet, and turned to see DB's lean frame outlined in the doorway.

"Ready for shift?" he asked, forcing his tone to be cheery. "I'm just about to hand out assignments."

"Yeah," she responded. "I'll be right there."

DB knocked his knuckles on the doorframe and winked at her before disappearing down the hall. Sara tucked her gun into her holster and clipped her badge to the pocket on her jeans.

Her hopes of having a quiet shift were shattered the moment she walked into the break room. It was loud and busy, a stack of papers a foot thick next to DB's cup of coffee and detectives jetting into and out of the room, relaying messages to Brass, who was engaged in conversation with Nick and Finn.

"Sara!"

Morgan called her name in a loud, laughing tone, Greg's smiling face visible over her shoulder. The both of them were fighting a giggle fit, and the hands gave Sara's heart a particularly painful squeeze. It seemed like a lifetime ago that she and Greg laughed like that.

"Settle a bet," Morgan said. "Would you date a guy whose drink of choice was a martini?"

Sara stared at the both of them.

"You're serious?"

"Dead," Morgan smiled. "C'mon. Tell the truth."

"I don't even like martinis," she said tonelessly. "I wouldn't date a guy with tastes more feminine than mine."

"Ha," Morgan emphasized, looking smug. "Ten bucks, Sanders, cough it up."

"Thanks a lot, Sara," Greg groaned, before turning back to Morgan. "I'm just saying, the strawberry ones are particularly tasty…"

Sara sighed and took the lone empty chair beside Nick.

"You look like you're having a terrible day."

"I couldn't sleep," she replied.

Nick raised an eyebrow and took a long, slow sip of coffee.

"You okay?" he asked.

She knew he tried to put some concern into the question, but he was getting tired of asking it. She didn't blame him for sounding uninterested.

"Fine."

"O-kay," Nick sighed.

He turned back to Brass, and Sara felt the third painful squeeze throb through her chest. She pushed back from the table and walked straight up to DB.

"Give me something to work on," she said dully. "Preferably out in the field… and alone."

DB's reaction looked concerned, but not surprised.

"Okay," he said lightly before rifling through his case files. He selected one and held it out for her, but as she reached out to take it from him, he moved it from her reach. "You wanna talk about it?" he asked.

"No."

"Okay," he shrugged, handing her the slip. "Just don't let it interfere with your work."

Sara packed her kit, grabbed her keys and headed out the door before she could run into anyone else who would remind her how different of a person she'd been acting lately. But she didn't need Nick's frustrated sigh or Greg's awkward small talk to remind her of this… funk… that she was in. Even the city seemed to be fighting against her, the bright lights and excited crowds and countless signs advertising an unforgettable night stark contrasts to her desire to crawl under blankets and never emerge.

Her scene was outside the Imperial Palace and Mitch was waiting for her when she pulled up. He tipped his hat at her as she slammed her door shut and greeted her with a quick smile and his usual briefing of the scene.

"She was found an hour ago by the maid coming on duty," he began, pointing Sara down an alley between the Imperial and the Flamingo.

The bright lights and babble of passing tourists faded into the distance as they walked further and further away from the strip, into the shadowy slums of the city. How appropriate.

Their vic was clothed in a simple dress, her dark hair obscuring her face, with no purse or other personal items in sight. Her body was half under the dumpster, like someone had tried shoving her under but ran out of time. Or was caught.

Sara crouched close to the sidewalk, looking for any blood, footprints or any evidence that would need to be taken care of before getting to the body.

"No underwear," Sara observed, shining her flashlight around the area. "Could be sexual assault gone wrong."

"Very wrong," Mitch added.

Sara clicked her flashlight off and rested her arm on her knee.

"This is a pretty heavily trafficked area," Sara said to him, gesturing behind them. "Parking lot for staff, the dumpster for trash runs. A lot of people come in and out those doors at any given time."

Mitch nodded.

"David will be able to tell for sure, but from the looks of it, she's been dead at least a few hours," Sara concluded.

"So how come nobody saw her until an hour ago?" Mitch asked.

"Exactly."

"I'm going to go ask some questions," Mitch said. "Manager's supposed to be down here any minute."

"I'll be here," Sara called, already turning back towards the body.

She pushed herself off the concrete, reaching over to her kit for a pair of gloves and a bindle.

"Now that's the best view I've seen all night," a voice said from behind her.

She straightened immediately, her free hand already fingering her gun as she turned.

"And I spend most of my time in the VIP room overlooking the strip," the man finished, grinning a wide smile of pearly-white, toothpaste-commercial-perfect teeth.

"Sara," Mitch said, reappearing behind the guy. "This is Dexter Carter, head of management at Imperial."

Dexter Carter, dressed to the nines in a suit and expensive-looking tie, wrinkled his nose like a child.

"Please call me Dex," he corrected. "Dexter is my great-grandfather's name."

"Right," Mitch said, catching Sara's eye. "Well, _Dex_, CSI Sidle will have a few questions for you. I'll be waiting at guest services when you're done."

Dex sighed, shaking his head dramatically and running a tanned hand through his hair.

"This is so tragic," he said, his eyes on the pair of legs sticking out from behind the dumpster.

"Yeah," Sara replied flatly, swapping the bindle for a DNA swab. "Very unfortunate."

She knew how this worked. Casino owners and hotel managers would be as cooperative and accommodating as can be, as long as the yellow tape comes down and things are back in business as soon as possible. They all have one thing and one thing only on their minds – money. And Sara wasn't in the mood for the bullshit tonight.

But when Dex looked at her, Sara was surprised to see he actually looked upset. He dropped his gaze.

"I apologize for my comment," he said softly. "My name wasn't the only thing I inherited from my great-grandfather. We both have a penchant for bluntness. And an appreciation for beauty."

Sara raised an eyebrow.

"I'm not trying to be suave," Dex said. "I mean that honestly. And I'm here to help. Whatever you need."

"Right now, I need to tell me what happened," Sara said. "What did you see?"

"I didn't see anything," Dex said softly. "My father owns this hotel. I'm in charge of management, which isn't as glamorous as it sounds. I liken it to being in air traffic control, I'm responsible for this entire hotel running smoothly. I was inside all night, taking care of one problem after another."

"Where were you – specifically – around six p.m. tonight?"

"In the kitchen, overseeing dinner preparation for a VIP," he replied. "Specifically – rack of lamb, tossed vegetables and twice-baked potatoes."

Sara gave a small smile.

"Afterwards, we had a staff briefing in conference room two, and then I was checking in with security until about eight o'clock," Dex finished.

Sara nodded.

"Okay," she said, inclined to believe him. "I'll still need a DNA sample from you. To eliminate you as a suspect."

"Of course."

Sara took her sample, sealed and labeled the envelope and turned back to face him.

"Look, Miss… Sidle," he began. "You can collect whatever you need. Stay as long as necessary. But if you're looking for someone who knows what goes on back here… you'll need someone else. I'm sorry."

"Do you have security cameras?"

"Inside," Dex answered regretfully. "Not out."

"Thank you, Mr. Carter—"

"Dex," he cut in.

"Dex," she corrected. "Mitch will be in touch if we need anything else from you."

She crouched down by the body, snapping on gloves and ready to get to work.

"D'you… do you have a first name, CSI Sidle?"

Sara paused, feeling his gaze sweep over her.

"Sara."

"Sara," he repeated, her name a smile on her lips. "I'll see you, Sara."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Thanks for your reviews on the first chapter! Sitting here waiting for the most anticipated CSI episode of the season (at least for me, anyway!) and thought I would post again before going out of town. Leave a review and give me something to read in the airport tomorrow? :)

* * *

Sara was sitting at the table in the empty break room, case notes spread out in front of her, munching on some veggies she'd brought with her in a zip-lock bag. She currently had green fibers from the vic's dress in trace, Dex's and a few other employees' swabs in DNA and a handful of smudges she'd lifted from the dumpster in fingerprints. With the backup in the coroner's office, she didn't have a damn thing to do until her evidence was processed. She was going over her crime scene notes for the fifth time when Greg popped his head in.

"Pizza?" he asked, a take-out menu in his hand. "Morgan's a pepperoni freak, but I'll split the veggie side with you."

Sara held up her bag of celery.

"No thanks, I'm good."

She lowered her eyes back to the spread of pictures and sketches, but she could feel Greg's eyes resting on her. For a moment, she thought he was going to let it go and walk away, but after pausing a second, he sat down across from her, flinging the menu on top of her papers.

"What the heck?" she asked as some of her notes slipped onto the floor. She ducked down to retrieve them.

"What's up with you?" Greg asked.

Sara slid the menu back across the table, a little too forcefully, watching as it fluttered to the floor.

"I don't know what you mean."

"Yes, you do," Greg pressed. "Tell me why you're acting like this."

"I'm getting the third degree because I didn't want pizza for dinner?" Sara reflected. "What's up with _you_?"

"Come on, Sara," Greg replied. "At least show me some respect and admit something is wrong. We've been friends for twelve years. I think I deserve that much."

Sara pulled a celery stick out of her bag and picked at it, stripping some of the excess strings off it.

"I'm just tired," she murmured.

Greg slammed his hands against the table, startling Sara, her eyes widening at his sudden outburst.

"You know what, Sara?" he said. "_I'm _tired. I'm tired of trying to be your friend and you keep pushing me away. I'm tired of your moping, moody attitude. We're all tired of it."

"All?" Sara repeated, her voice rising. "And you _all _have talked about this?"

"Well, you haven't done a very good job hiding your pissy mood," Greg said sarcastically, rising from his seat. "Finn and Morgan are too new to feel comfortable bringing it up. Nick and I have tried. Russell… well, he just told us that if something's going on between you and Grissom, it should stay between you and Grissom."

Sara dropped her gaze again, focusing hard on the pictures of her body's defense marks, willing the tears not to spill. She heard Greg lower back into his chair, clearly aware he hit a nerve.

"Sara?" he asked tentatively. "_Is_ something going on between you and Grissom?"

She looked up at him and held his gaze, concern etched across his face. She opened her mouth, but before sound could come out, a pair of knuckles tapped across the glass wall.

"Am I… interrupting anything?" Doc Robbins asked, his gaze flittering between Greg and Sara, still staring at each other from opposite sides of the table.

"No," Sara said quickly, taking a bite of the celery stick she'd been holding for five minutes, just to give her hands something to do. "What have you got?"

"Autopsy results," the doc replied, making his way to the seat beside Sara and handing her a file of documents. "Your vic died of suffocation."

"Suffocation?" Sara repeated. "I didn't find any evidence on her body – no fibers in her mouth, no indication someone sat on her chest. Nothing."

"Someone could have held a palm over her mouth," Greg jumped in, looking apologetic. "That wouldn't necessarily leave any mark."

"Her lipstick wasn't smudged," Sara pointed out. "Her lipstick was still perfect. Unless someone took the time to redo her make-up after smudging it from suffocating her… and I just don't see why anyone would do that."

"She does have defensive marks," Doc Robbins said, tapping the topmost picture with his index finger.

Doc Robbins reached into her brown paper bag, stocked with more plastic bags of vegetables. Sara shuffled her pictures, drawing out a close-up of her victim's forehead.

"And she has a nasty bruise that's consistent with the bottom of the dumpster," Sara mused, then sighed. "I have to wait until my other evidence comes back. I don't have nearly enough to make an even halfway educated guess."

"Are you on a diet, Sara?" Doc Robbins asked, examining the bag of carrots like it was particularly perplexing stomach contents.

Sara raised her eyebrows.

"Are you saying I should be?"

The coroner chuckled.

"This," he said. "Is what I would call rabbit food. And what my wife would call a 'smart choice'. She's trying to get me to eat better."

Sara smiled and snatched the carrots away.

"I just like it."

"If you say so," the doc said, pushing himself out of the chair. "But I much prefer a nice, juicy steak."

He winked at Sara.

"Greg, your decomp from downtown is next on the table," Doc Robbins said. "Come see me in a few hours."

"Will do," Greg nodded. "Enjoy that one, it's particularly rank."

"Looking forward to it," the doc called from the hall.

An uncomfortable silence settled over the room, and Sara started packing up her dinner and files to make some noise.

"I have to go see Hodges," she muttered, avoiding Greg's eyes.

She pushed back from the table and was almost to the door when he spoke.

"You're not taking care of yourself, Sara," he said. "Living on carrots and coffee is not healthy. You don't look like you're sleeping well. Just… just please tell me you're okay."

"I'm okay," Sara said softly.

"I know you," Greg continued. "When you're feeling guilty about something, you punish yourself by not taking care of yourself. Whether it's a case, or… something else. You don't sleep, you pull doubles and, frankly, you're not a joy to be around."

"I'm sorry," Sara replied. "And… you're right."

"Look, I know you're not one for heart-to-hearts," Greg said. "And even though you managed to hide the fact that you were sleeping with our boss for two years, I have managed to notice that you're mentioning him less and less. And he's home less and less. So… if you need me, I-I'm here."

Sara swallowed hard and kept her gaze fixed firmly on her feet. Greg sighed, knowing he'd done all he could, and turned to leave.

"Greg?"

He paused and turned. Sara was looking right at him, her eyes moist but her face set.

"Grissom and I haven't talked to each other in a month," she said. "Haven't seen each other in six."

Greg's face softened as Sara's lower lip trembled.

"We're… we're separated," she finished.

A second later, she was wrapped in Greg's arms, head buried in his t-shirt, the paper bag of veggies crinkled between them.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **Probably the last post before Christmas, so I hope all of you have a wonderful holiday! Hopefully, I'll see you again before New Year's :)

* * *

"_Okay, well, I'll speak with you soon. Bye, Sara." _

Greg leaned back in his armchair, eyes on the cup of coffee in his hands.

"He sounds so… sad," he said.

She didn't know what possessed her to do it, but she'd played Grissom's message from that evening for Greg on speakerphone, right there in the middle of the coffee shop they'd driven to after Sara realized how pathetically pathetic she was whining about her failed marriage in the middle of the lab.

"There was a time when he said I made him happy," Sara said dejectedly.

"I'm sure that's still true," Greg said softly.

Sara didn't answer, instead staring at her own Styrofoam cup of coffee. She'd shared more about her marriage in the last five minutes than she had in the entire time since they'd exchanged vows. She'd left out details, but she told Greg how strained their relationship had become since Grissom had accepted a spot on a forensic anthropology dig in Egypt eight months ago. He'd told her while she was visiting him in Peru, expecting him to sit beside her on the flight back to Vegas.

Greg sipped his coffee and Sara's sat getting cold as she told him about how they'd hashed out the same argument they had before every trip. How Sara wanted him home and Grissom wasn't ready to stop the adventures quite yet. How they could pretend all they liked about how this long-distance relationship thing worked for them, when it really didn't. How Sara was lonely and sometimes seeing him was even harder than him being away, knowing that he'd be boarding another plane within a few days.

Finn had started at the lab a couple weeks before, and Sara called and asked if the shift would be covered if she extended her trip. She stayed five more weeks, as they pretended everything was okay and took canoe trips as a way of remembering when they were happy being out in the middle of nowhere, together.

The night before she left, they had just finished making love and were lying side-by-side, skin against skin, in Grissom's cot, the muggy night air preserving the droplets of sweat on their arms and faces. Grissom ran the pads of his fingers up and down her bare arm as Sara lightly played with the fine, white hair on his chest. Eventually, he tilted her chin up and kissed her forehead.

"Hey," he said softly, noticing the wetness of her eyes. "Honey… what's this?"

Sara shifted in his arms, looking into the deepness of his clear, blue eyes.

"I'm late," she whispered, trembling.

Grissom half-sat, his hand resting on her elbow.

"Two weeks," she went on. "I'm… I'm never late."

"Have you… taken a test?" Grissom asked.

"Yeah, I ran down to the convenience store this morning," Sara said as Grissom chuckled.

"Point taken," he said. "Well… maybe we can get one on the way to the airport tomorrow?"

"I don't think there will be time," she said softly. "The shuttle leaves camp at seven, the drive into town is at least two hours, given that there aren't any goat or sheep crossings to slow us down as we go through the villages. My flight's at eleven-thirty…"

"I see your point," Grissom said, reaching over to twirl a strand of her hair. "But… what should we do?"

"Maybe it's better to wait until I land back in Nevada," she said. "Buy a test we can trust. I can… call you. When I know."

"Call me right away," Grissom said eagerly. "Promise?"

"I promise," Sara whispered.

"Hey," Grissom said, pulling her head to his chest. "It'll happen this time. I can feel it."

Sara nodded against her husband's chest, figuring that letting herself believe things were okay for a few more days wouldn't hurt.

"It's just that… I can't see Grissom being mad at you for not being pregnant," Greg said, pulling Sara back to the present. "I mean, it's not like it's your fault. And you can always try again."

Sara shook her head.

"It's not that," she said. "And that's not the first time we thought I was pregnant. We had… five… negative tests before that one."

Greg lowered his cup.

"I didn't know you were trying," he said.

"No one did."

"I didn't know you, you know, wanted kids," Greg added.

Sara sighed and put down her cup too. It was still full, but cold.

"I don't."

Greg froze, his confusion written all over his face.

"Grissom does," she said. "I don't know if it was playing soccer with the kids in the villages or talking to his mother too much, or what, but… it's what he wants."

"But it's not what you want," Greg pointed out.

"But I love him," Sara choked. "And I would do anything for him, including trying to have a baby. No matter my history, no matter my doubts, I was willing to try. For him."

"And then what happened?"

"I called him and told him the news," Sara continued, taking a deep breath to get her emotions under control. "And… we had a fight. A really, really bad one. He accused me of deliberately trying to not get pregnant, said I never was willing to try in the first place. Which wasn't true."

Tears started to build in Sara's eyes again, and Greg reached across the small table between them to put a hand on her knee. She took a handful more steadying breaths.

"I asked him why in the world he wanted a baby when he didn't even want me," Sara said. "When he leaves me alone for months at a time. He said a baby would change all that."

"But you don't think so," Greg cut in.

Sara shook her head.

"I don't," she whispered. "He loves what he does. And he loves me too. But… he's not good at compartmentalizing. And I don't want to end up in Vegas, alone with a baby that I would have no idea how to take care of. I couldn't do that to a child."

Greg squeezed her knee and then sat back.

"He asked me to get checked out, kept pushing me to see a doctor," she continued. "I told him maybe six failed pregnancies meant it wasn't supposed to happen, and… he didn't speak to me for three days. So I went."

She paused to look at her friend, seeing her heartbreak reflected in his eyes.

"I have endometriosis," she said. "Severe scarring on my… my fallopian tubes. The doctor says it's causing my infertility."

"Oh, Sara," Greg said.

"And the crazy thing is, as much as I didn't want a baby, hearing that news broke my heart," she said. "Because I knew I could never give my husband the one thing that would make him happy again. And, subconsciously, I realized I wasn't able to do the one thing that might have kept him home for good. I failed him, and I failed my marriage."

Sara reached into her jacket and pulled out her cell phone, putting on the table beside their coffee cups.

"You know, it's so simple," she said. "I could pick up that phone and call him right now. But he won't answer."

"Maybe he will," Greg offered.

"He won't," Sara said firmly. "Because he hasn't in a month. We keep playing this ridiculous game of phone tag that we know isn't real, because it is literally impossible that we miss each other every time. I just… I see his name come up and I can't bear to answer and hear the disappointment in his voice. And I know he can't bear to talk to me."

"Sara…"

"We live on separate continents," she went on. "We don't communicate. We have this… problem… that can't be solved. And we call that a marriage. I can't do it any more. It's… it's exhausting me."

Sara took a deep breath, wiped her cheeks with her sleeves and sighed.

"This… this doesn't get repeated to anyone," she said. "Not even Nick."

"Sara, I swear," Greg said. "I won't tell a soul. Just tell me if there's something I can do."

"There's not," she said with a sad smile. "But… thanks for listening. I guess letting it out really does help."

"You want something stronger than caffeine?" Greg asked. "I've got beer at home, or we can find a bar downtown and just… just have a good time together. Like old times."

"Thanks," Sara said. "But… I'm ready to get home. Maybe another time."

"Sure."

Sara stood and they hugged, Greg's hand beneath her ponytail.

"I'm sorry I've been such a shitty friend," she murmured into her shoulder.

Greg gave a short laugh.

"It's okay," he said warmly. "You've had a lot on your mind."

Sara matched his snort.

"Yeah," she said. "Yeah, I guess I have."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **Hope everyone had a wonderful holiday, happy New Year, and here's to 2013!

* * *

Maybe it was the weight of finally saying everything that was wrong between herself and her husband, or maybe it was her own imagination, but the house seemed twice as dark and twice as quiet when she walked through the door. She looked around the space she called home – the quiet, empty living room, the stack of dishes near the sink in the kitchen an the pile of magazines on the hallway table – and was instantly taken back to ten years ago, when she first realized that she was living a lonely life.

Lonely. The word caused another squeeze of tightness in her chest. She was unsurprised to find tears stinging in her eyes, it seemed to be happening a lot. The urge returned to get into bed, pull the covers up over her head and remain there until… forever.

_Thump_.

A noise sounding like it came from the back of the bedroom made her nearly jump out of her skin. Slowly, quietly, she set her bag on the ground and reached into her jacket to the gun that was still fastened on her hip. She inched her way across the hall and living room to the back hallway, releasing the safety on the gun with a soft click. The bedroom door was open only a few inches. She distinctly remembered leaving it wide open when she'd left before shift. She tightened her grasp on the weapon, feeling her heart pounding against her chest, and toed open the door without a sound. The room looked exactly as she left it the previous evening, but a dark silhouette was standing near the window, his back to her, staring at something on the dresser. She still didn't make a sound, but the moment before she prepared herself to pull the trigger, the figure became aware of her presence and whipped around.

"What the—"

"Jesus—"

"Sara?"

"Gil?"

She lowered her gun, her heart still pounding, at the shadowy but expressively scared and shocked face of her husband. Her jaw dropped a little, and she clutched at her chest, near to crying.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"I…"

"I could have shot you!"

"Since when do you walk around in your own home with your gun drawn?"

"Since I hear strange noises and see a man standing in my dark bedroom," she retorted, sinking back against the wall and letting out several breaths, trying to regain a steady heartbeat again. "I mean, seriously… what the hell, Gil?"

"I was just trying to surprise you," he said softly. "Turn the lights on."

She fumbled towards the light switch and flipped it, illuminating the room. She saw the full effect of the last few moments etched on her husband's scared, worried face. As she stared at him and gulped down mouthfuls of air, she noticed her room _wasn't_ exactly how she'd left it before work. Several candles were lit and flickering on the dresser behind him. A bottle of wine was set on her nightstand. And when her gaze slowly moved back to her husband, he bent down to retrieve a huge bouquet of flowers from underneath the bed. He took a few cautious steps toward her.

"Hi."

She bit her lip.

"You still haven't answered my question."

He shifted his weight from one foot to another and glanced down at the flowers she still hadn't taken.

"What?"

"What are you doing here?"

He glanced up from the flowers, looked up at her, and took a seat on the edge of the bed, putting the bouquet next to him.

"Should I have called first?"

"A head's up would have been nice," she replied.

"I didn't think you would answer," he retorted.

His words stung, but hers were just as accusatory, and she instantly felt guilty. She holstered her gun and took a seat beside him on the bed, the flowers between them.

"They're beautiful," she offered meekly.

When he didn't say a word, she stared at her lap.

"Gil," she said. "We haven't done more than leave voicemails back and forth for over a month. The last I knew, you were digging holes in the sand in Egypt. How did you expect me to react?"

Her husband remained quiet and Sara could feel the frustration rising in her chest.

"Gil? Say… something?"

"I guess… I just wanted to start over," he said finally. "I had this… stupid idea that I could show up with some flowers and candles and everything would be okay. If I told you I loved you that… we could work out all our problems."

"I wish it were that simple," Sara whispered. "But it's not. And it's going to take more than that to make everything okay."

"I know," Grissom said, so softly that she barely heard him. "But… I'm willing to try. If… if you are."

Sara looked at him, looked into his eyes, just as she had so many times. She loved him. She knew he loved her too. But… so much had changed between them, so much had been broken and saying her husband was not a great communicator was an understatement. She wasn't sure it could be fixed again.

But it was worth a try. For him.

Sara picked up the crinkly bouquet and moved it aside gently. She slid over on the bed until her shoulder was touching his. She put a hand to his cheek, moving her thumb back and forth a little, feeling a few days' worth of stubble growing there. He continued to stare at the floor.

She put her other hand on his face and tilted his head towards her. He avoided her gaze, his blue eyes hurt and concerned. She tilted her head and cautiously touched her lips to his. He kissed her back, but his hands remained by his sides, and she could practically feel the sadness melt through their connected lips.

She pulled away and dropped her palms from his face, taking his hand in hers.

"It's going to take time," she said. "And effort. From both of us."

Grissom finally, finally, lifted his gaze, looking at her. He cupped his other hand to her cheek and she tilted her head into his touch.

"You look exhausted," he said.

"Yeah," she said. "I… haven't been sleeping well."

"Then let's sleep now."

She watched him toe off his shoes and lean back onto the mattress. His hand still in hers, he pulled her down with him.

"Come here."

She lie back too, flush against him, and spread her palm on his chest. He ran his fingers up and down her arm, just as he had the last time they'd slept beside each other.

"I'm sorry," he said eventually. He tilted his head to kiss her temple. "I should have told you I was coming. It's just… with all that's happened between us… I wanted to do something special and romantic to… to start working through this."

"Special? Yes," Sara smiled. "Romantic? Not quite. Unless your idea of romance involved almost getting shot by your armed wife."

"You really were about to shoot me, weren't you?"

"You scared the crap out of me!"

He chuckled and her head bounced against his chest. She grinned. He twirled her hair between his fingers and she buried herself deeper against him, drinking in the smell of him. He smelled a little like the musty airplane he just spent hours on, but mostly, he just smelled like home. And felt like it, too. It didn't totally erase her fears and worries, but it sure helped.

"Does anyone else know you're here?" she asked. "Or are you planning special, romantic surprises for them too?"

Grissom laughed.

"No, no," he said. "No more surprises."

"Good," Sara grinned. "Because you're not very good at them."

"Is that so?"

"It is."

Grissom made a sudden move for her waist, pulling her above him, kissing her, and managing to pull her t-shirt over her head in one swift motion. He pulled his lips from her and smiled wide at the look of shock on her face.

"How's that for a good surprise?"

Sara narrowed her eyes at him, but before she could come back with a witty reply, he was plunging her mouth, his hands everywhere, and before she knew it, she was fully naked, lying flush against his entirely clothed body.

"Where did you learn these tricks?" she breathed between kisses.

"I've had a lot of time to think about what I was going to do with you when I finally got my hands on you again," he whispered back.

Sara felt her heart skip a beat, and a familiar tightening in the lower half of her body. She rolled off him, lying spread out on the sheets.

"Go on, then."

Her husband looked at her and quirked one eyebrow in that very Grissom-like way of his. He positively ripped off his clothes and climbed atop her, pressing the weight of his body against her. They tousled like teenagers, hot and heavy, until both of them were lying, exhausted and spent, wrapped in each other's sweaty bodies beneath the top sheet.

Grissom had resumed the light stroking of her arm, and with each touch, Sara thought how just one light touch could send her into a frenzy. She also marveled at the fact that after all this time, their relationship was still a rollercoaster. Just hours ago, she'd received a short, terse voicemail, the first words they'd exchanged in a week. And now, she was gathered up in his arms, plunging towards slumber in a room that smelled like sex.

The silence, surprisingly, wasn't tense, but comfortable and perfectly normal. It would have been so easy to perpetuate it, nestle into that place where everyone was okay for a few more hours, but Sara just couldn't help herself.

"Gil?" she asked eventually.

"Mmm?" he murmured back, sounding throaty and content.

"I've been… thinking."

Grissom turned to look at her.

"That's always dangerous," he said, winking.

He settled back into the pillows and ran the pads of his fingers from her shoulder to her fingertips.

"Do you remember what we talked about, after Warrick's funeral?" she asked.

"We talked about a lot of things that night."

"No, I mean – a few days after," she clarified hesitantly. "During the… the Pam Adler case."

Grissom's fingers froze and Sara's stomach squirmed, suddenly sorry she said anything at all.

"Hmmm," he hummed noncommittally.

"You told me that, eventually, all relationships in stasis begin to wither," she pressed. "That you get angry."

Grissom withdrew his arm from around her shoulder.

"Is that how you feel?" he asked. "That we're in stasis?"

"Don't you?" she countered. When he didn't answer, she continued. "Gil, we've been living apart for almost the entirety of our marriage. It's an endless cycle of missed phone calls and plane trips and goodbyes and… loneliness."

"Are you angry?" he asked.

She thought about that for a moment.

"Yeah," she answered finally. "I think I am."

"At me?"

"No," she replied. "At us. Both of us. For being so negligent. For letting what we had slip through our fingers."

"I didn't slip through your fingers," Grissom said, looking at her. "I'm still here."

"Are you?"

He fell silent again, and she could physically feel him withdrawing from her.

"Gil, you told me that people need more than just the safety and comfort of knowing they're not alone," she said. "I… I need more."

"Exactly."

"What?"

Grissom wiggled around again, settling on his side, facing her.

"I've been thinking too," he said. "And I think I have a solution to our problem."

"Our problem?"

"Your… health problem."

"The fact that I can't get pregnant," she said bluntly, already not liking where this was headed.

"Yes," he said softly. "That."

"And what's your genius idea?" she said sharply.

"Well, I've done some research," he began meekly. "I've talked to a few people I met in Egypt, one of them has a sister who is an OBGYN, Sara."

"Mmm."

"And… well, basically what I've come to realize is that your condition could be reversible," he said. "With surgery, having children could be a possibility."

"My condition?" Sara repeated angrily. "I'm not sick or paralyzed, Gil. I'm infertile. That's not a _condition_."

"I'm sorry – honey – I didn't mean it like that," he said. "I just meant, if you're willing to give it one more try, we could still have a shot at this."

"Let me get this straight," Sara said brusquely. "You would be willing to subject me to tests and pokes and prodding and _surgery_ just so you could get what you want."

"Sara," he sighed. "Just calm down and think about it for a second. You're being unreasonable."

"I don't think I am," she shot back, her voice rising. "It's my body you're signing up for this surgery I don't know anything about. Do I get a say in this at all?"

"Of course you do," Grissom said softly. "I just… I thought you might consider giving it one more try."

Now it was Sara's turn to settle into silence, both of them carefully avoiding the other's eyes.

"Never mind," Grissom whispered, sitting. "Forget I mentioned it."

"Gil," Sara said suddenly, putting her palm against his bare back. "Wait."

She reached for his hand and tugged him back to her, physically lifting his arms and positioning them around her so she was cocooned against him once more. Tears stung her eyes, but she squeezed them shut, keeping them closed as she spoke.

"I'll try," she said. "Once more. But you have to promise me something."

"Oh, Sara," Grissom breathed. "Anything."

"If this doesn't work," she began. "We stop. All of this. No surrogates, no fertilization treatment. If this doesn't work, it's not meant to be. And we leave it at that."

Grissom held her tight, tears splashing out of her eyes and onto his chest. He had one hand around her middle, the other on her neck.

"Okay," he whispered into her hair. "We leave it at that."

Sara nodded, sniffling. She lifted her chin to look at him, and he gave her a quick kiss.

"When should we go?" she asked.

"Well," Grissom said nervously. "Is tomorrow too soon?"

Sara snorted.

"Wait," she said. "You're serious?"

"That friend of a friend, the one I told you about," he deadpanned. "The OBGYN. She's in Reno, and she's very highly sought-after. Her brother called ahead for us, and he was able to get us in. Tomorrow."

"Gil," Sara said faintly. "I just made the decision to let myself go through surgery so we can have something I'm still not entirely sure I'm ready for. Can't I have a few days to come to peace with that decision?"

Grissom shifted uncomfortably, and all of a sudden, Sara understood. She shot out of his arms, sitting stock-straight and clutching the sheets to her chest.

"How long are you in town?" she asked.

"Honey…"

"How long?" she demanded.

"Until tomorrow night," he said apologetically.

Anger and frustration and sadness wrapped her up in their uncomfortably tight grasp and she suddenly felt like she was going to be sick.

"T-tomorrow night?" she repeated. "You… you were going to have me start this, _for you_, and then not stick around to help me through it?"

"It's only for a week, maybe two," Grissom rushed.

"Oh, it always is," Sara cut in. "'I'll be home for the foundation benefit dinner, Sara, I promise. I'll make it in time to see the sun set on our anniversary, honey, I promise.' You know what, Gil, your promises don't mean a thing to me anymore."

As if in slow motion, Grissom reached for her hand and spread her fingers, the morning sun glinting off the gold of her wedding band.

"Even this one?" he asked softly.

She shook her head at him, eyes brimming with tears. She slipped the ring from her finger and pressed it to his palm.

"You can take it back," she choked. "I can't do this any more."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **Happy New Year to you all! Hope 2012 treats you well. Thanks for all of you who have reviewed so far - keep it coming, I love to hear from you!

* * *

Grissom called a total of thirteen times between when she walked out the front door and walked into the lab. She spent the night driving around aimlessly, until finally pulling into the staff parking lot and catching a fretful four hours of sleep in her back seat.

She'd never been so grateful for the change of clothes and bottle of shampoo she kept in her locker.

"Sara," Nick said as he rounded the corner into the locker room, Greg on his heels. "You're in early."

"Yep," Sara said simply, squeezing the excess droplets of water from her hair.

"Your, uh, your phone's ringing," Nick said, looking down at the bench between them.

He averted his eyes quickly, and Sara knew he'd seen the caller ID on the screen.

"You okay?" he asked nonchalantly, donning his CSI vest.

"I'm fine," she said loftily, shooting a meaningful glance at Greg.

"Well, see you all on the flip side then," Nick said. "I'm off to the hospital to catch up with my vic's family. Greg, you wanna carpool?"

"No, thanks," Greg said. "I, uh, I have to restock my kit."

"Okay," Nick said, holding up his hands. "No big deal."

"Bye," Sara called.

Once they were alone in the room, Greg leaned against the panel of lockers and leveled her with his look.

"Sara?" he asked hesitantly. "Is everything okay?"

At first, she wanted to say yes. It would be so easy to lie. Then, she wanted to tell him the whole truth, get everything out in the open like she did yesterday. It would make her feel so much better. But as soon as she opened her mouth, nothing but a choked sob came out, and all she could do was shake her head and collapse into his open arms.

* * *

"Well, if it isn't CSI Sidle."

Dex's suit was exceptionally crisp and his eyes unusually twinkly when Sara saw him for a second time. She'd put on a fresh layer of mascara after crying all hers off in Greg's arms, but she knew her eyes were still red and runny. She hadn't told Greg what happened with Grissom last night and he hadn't asked. She didn't know how she was going to focus over the next ten or eleven hours when the absence of the ring on her left hand was weighing down on her like a load of bricks, but she had a job to do.

"I knew you'd be back," Dex said, winking as he leaned across the management desk.

"I have more questions," Sara replied.

"Please, sit," Dex said, gesturing to a plush armchair across from him.

Sara didn't move.

"Does security keep a record of when the back door is opened?"

"No," Dex answered, crestfallen and obviously disappointed she was ready to get straight to business.

"But a keycard is required for access," she pointed out.

"Yes," he said. "But, unfortunately, the only records kept are guest rooms and back hall access from the casino."

Sara stared at him a moment before following up on his invitation to sit. She crossed her legs and leaned forward.

"I'll tell you what's unfortunate," she said. "A woman died right outside the back of your hotel, and you really don't seemed too concerned."

"To the contrary, Sara—"

"CSI Sidle."

Dex's eyebrows lifted.

"In any case," he began slowly. "I _am _upset. I told you – I'm willing to do anything to help. I'm sure that's a lot more than other casinos in this town will do for you."

"So it's about a competition for you?"

Dex's smile completely faded.

"Miss Sidle, I'm afraid you've judged me too quickly," he said sadly.

"Your first words to me were commenting on my ass," she shot back. "I don't think I needed any more than that."

Silence fell between them.

"Tell you what," Dex said finally. "Why don't I take you to dinner and I'll work on restoring my image. First impressions aren't everything."

"I can't," Sara said immediately, rising.

"Give me one good reason why."

"I'll give you two," Sara shot back. "One – I can't associate with suspects."

His features faltered on the emphasis of her last word. Truthfully, she didn't consider him a suspect at all, especially since he had an airtight alibi with witnesses and video camera footage to back it up. But she wanted to rattle him.

"Two – I'm married."

She saw his eyes drop to her ring finger. She moved her thumb to twirl it, a nervous habit she'd picked up in the last few years, but her finger was bare.

"I—"

Dex held up a hand to stop her.

"When you change your mind," he said. "I'll still be here."

* * *

Back at the lab, Sara made her way through the winding halls to find Hodges. The fingerprints she'd lifted from the dumpster were a bust, and the DNA collected from hotel employees didn't flag any criminal history, nothing serious, anyways, so she was hoping that at least the green fibers lifted from her victim's dress would be any sort of help.

From the moment she turned the corner, Sara could feel Hodges' eyes on her, and when she stepped into his lab, she stared at him right back.

"What?" she challenged.

"Nothing," he said quickly, loftily. "Absolutely nothing."

"Please tell me those fibers weren't nothing," she said. "They're just about the only physical evidence I have left."

"Sara," Hodges said plainly. "Do I ever let you down?"

"Do you really want me to answer that?"

Hodges looked hurt for a moment, then collected himself, gesturing towards the microscope.

"Fibers are polyester," he explained as Sara bent towards the scope. "Pretty common, interwoven with a few strands of yellow fiber. Hard to see outside the microscope."

"And how does that help me?" Sara asked, standing up.

"Seeing as my powers of recognition are incredible," Hodges prompted. "I remembered this composition. The fibers match others that Nick collected at an attempted murder two months ago. At the burger joint downtown."

Sara took in that new information, deciding that, at the least, it gave her a few more leads.

"Okay," she said. "Thanks, I guess."

She took Hodges' file of results and turned towards the door, ready to track down Nick.

"Hey – Sara!" Hodges called as she turned. "How's the husband? I would have thought he'd come back to visit by now, you haven't scared him off yet, have you?"

Sara forced a smile and a strained laugh and walked away.

She found Nick at the break room table, scarfing down a couple of fast-food tacos over the photos he'd taken at the hospital.

"Hey," Sara said.

"Sara," Nick said through a mouth full of chips. "Just the girl I've been looking for."

"Me first," Sara said, sliding Hodges' file across the table. "You remember an attempted murder about two months ago, at a burger place downtown?"

"Mmm," Nick mumbled in agreement. He swallowed a huge bit of taco. "Boyfriend and girlfriend worked there together. She dumped him, he tried to kill her. We got him, put him away. Why?"

"Because the same composition of fibers you found at that scene match fibers found on my DB from last night," Sara said, passing him the file.

"Hmm," Nick mused. "You know, I do remember these fibers. Weird looking uniforms, green and yellow. Looked like something straight out of Green Bay."

Nick wiped his mouth and crumpled up his empty wrappers, tossing them into the trash across the room.

"You want me to pull the case file for you?" he asked.

"Could you?" Sara said. "Thanks."

"No problem," Nick responded. "Give me five."

"Hey," Sara called as he walked out the door. "What were you looking for me for?"

"Oh," Nick said, remembering. "Judy came by looking for you. Said you have flowers waiting for you at reception."

"Flowers?" Sara asked.

"Looks like the old man hasn't forgotten about you quite yet," Nick winked.

He turned to jog down the hall towards the evidence lockers and Sara sank back into her seat. Flowers? Thirteen calls was one thing, but sending flowers to the lab?

Sara glanced at her watch. Grissom was already on the plane. Once the scheduled time of the doctor's appointment passed, his calls had ceased. What was he playing at?

If it were another plant, she'd goddamn kill him.

"Hi, Judy," Sara greeted.

"Hi, Mrs. Grissom," the receptionist trilled back. She was the only one in the entire lab that called her that, and secretly, Sara was a little glad someone did. "Did Nick tell you I was looking for you?"

"He said I have flowers?"

"Right here," Judy beamed, gesturing behind the desk.

Sara stepped around to see an enormous bouquet of lilacs.

"You're so lucky," Judy rushed as Sara picked them up, looking as excited as a child on Christmas Day. "My husband never buys me flowers any more!"

Sara gave her the most genuine smile she could muster and found an empty layout room to read the card. It had three words.

_Thinking of you._


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** Think Otie will like this one... the rest of you may hate me. Please, don't. Or, if you do, just tell me so in a review! :) hehe.

* * *

"I know, I know," Nick rushed. "I said five minutes and I was more like, an hour. But I made it up to you."

"Wow," Sara said as he placed a candy bar in front of her. "A vending machine treasure, just for me!"

"That's my thoughtfulness for you," Nick said. "Thought you could need it."

Sara unwrapped the candy and took a bite.

"What are you trying to say?"

"That I haven't seen you consume anything solid in the last twenty-four hours," Nick said. "You'll turn into a cup of coffee soon."

"Where's my file?" Sara mumbled through chocolate.

Nick slid it over to her.

"Julianne Brown and Tony Chavez," Nick said. "Chavez is still in jail waiting his subpoena hearing."

Sara gazed over Nick's notes, paying careful attention to the fibers.

"What was the gist of the case?"

"Long story short, Julianne dumped him, he was pissed about it, tried to strangle her on her last night at the diner," Nick said. "The manager forgot his keys and came back mid-attempt. It's a locked-up case, Sara, my guy is definitely not your guy. I don't know what the fibers have to do with your scene."

"I do," Sara said suddenly, her eyes glued on the bottommost set of pictures, from the hospital. "Julianne is my vic."

Nick's eyebrows lifted.

"Gimme."

She swapped files with him, giving him hers, and he flipped right to her pictures of the crime scene, pulling out a close-up on the vic's face, which, side-by-side with Julianne's shots from the hospital bed, confirmed that they were definitely one and the same.

"Well, Chavez didn't kill her," Nick said.

"But he wanted to," Sara said. "And he worked at that diner for – what did you write down – three years? I'm sure he made friends there."

"You're thinking that he was able to connect with one of his friends from jail and got them to kill Julianne," Nick said.

"How else would the fibers have gotten there?" Sara asked. "I'm pretty sure Julianne didn't keep working at the diner after she was nearly killed there."

"Probably not," Nick agreed. "So the fibers got transferred to her from another uniform, when they killed her. What was the matter of death?"

"Asphyxia," Sara said. "But she had no signs of strangulation around her neck or compression on her chest."

"Sara," Brass cut in from the doorway. "Message from Henry for you. He's got more DNA results."

"Oh, good," Sara said.

Henry was so backed up running both toxicology and DNA that a lot of times he had to split up evidence and run it at separate times.

"This can't be right," Sara said, looking over his results.

"What?" Brass asked.

"According to Henry, my vic is Chelsie Taylor."

"Why isn't that right?" Brass inquired.

Sara spread Nick's pictures of Julianne at the hospital two months ago next to her own from last night.

"That can't be right," she said.

"Twins?" Nick suggested.

"I don't think so," Sara said, already standing and gathering her things. "Something's up."

She dropped off a lot of evidence in the storage lockers and made her way to the coroner's office, smiling at David on her way in to see Doc Robbins.

"Sara," the coroner said cheerfully. "What can I do you for?"

"I want to see Julianne Brown – er, Chelsie Taylor," she said.

"Right over here," the doc said, making his way to the nearest drawer and pulling it open. "Anything in particular you want to see?"

"This," Sara said, moving the woman's hair back with her gloved hand.

"Is there something special about this tattoo?"

Sara held out the two pieces of evidence she had brought with her, a picture of "Julianne" and a picture of "Chelsie". They both had the same tiny, pink fairy tattoo by the lobe of their left ear. Nick had got it in one of his pictures of Julianne's strangulation marks, and Sara had taken several close-ups at her scene, hoping it would help lead to identification.

"They're identical," the doc said.

"This picture is from a woman named Julianne," Sara said, holding out Nick's picture. "Henry says this woman is Chelsie Taylor. What are they odds they're twins with the exact same tattoo?"

"Zero," Doc Robbins said. "This tattoo is several years old, it's started to fade. The marks and fades and imperfections are identical in both pictures. Not even twin tattoos would fade the same way."

"This is the same woman," Sara said, entirely certain of the conclusion she'd had all along. "Now I just need to find out whether she was Julianne or Chelsie by birth."

"Or neither," the doc suggested.

Sara smiled a little.

"Or neither."

* * *

With the help of Brass and Henry, Sara was able to determine by the end of shift that the woman, by birth, was named Julianne Brown. At dawn, she visited the burger place Julianne had almost died at and spoke to the manager who had called the police that night.

"I was sad to see her go," he said. "She was such a sweet, hardworking girl, but I understand why she had to quit."

"Do you know where she went when she left?" Sara asked.

"No," the man said, shaking his head. "But I know she always wanted to become a cocktail waitress. This job was just a stepping stone until she could reach that goal."

"I think she did," Sara said. "Julianne was coming into work at the Imperial the night she was killed, through the back, where the staff goes. The way she was dressed doesn't indicate she was a cocktail waitress, but we never recovered a purse or bag. Perhaps her killer took it with her, hoping it would delay identification."

The man shook his head again, clearly still disturbed from the photo Sara had showed him.

"I need a list of employees working two nights ago," Sara said.

He pulled a schedule from the corkboard behind him.

"Right here," he said. "It was Mary Lou, Kevin and Lars."

"Were any of them particularly good friends with Tony Chavez?"

The man thought a little before replying.

"You know, Kevin was," he said. "They met through the job, but I always saw them in the parking lot when I locked up at night, drinking beer. Seems like they took to complaining about their miserable lives together."

"Excuse me a moment," Sara said.

She made a quick call to Brass, telling him what she had learned and asking him to track down Kevin. When she hung up, the manager was still looking solemn.

"Well," the manager said slowly. "At least, out of all of this, we can take comfort in the fact that Julianne achieved her goal before she died."

Sara nodded somberly and thanked the manager, beginning her third trip to see one Dex Carter. She was surprised to see him as she walked up, seated at the front desk, at seven in the morning.

"Hello," he said politely. "Have you figured out what happened?"

"Close to it," Sara said. "I need to know if you hired someone named Chelsie Taylor in the last few weeks."

Dex walked to the furthest computer, tapping on the keys for a few minutes.

"Oh my God," he said. "It's her."

Sara walked around the desk and saw the face of Julianne Brown, attached to a work permit for Chelsie Taylor.

"This woman is Julianne Brown," she said. "She must have changed her name when she applied for this job, hoping her ex-boyfriend wouldn't find her."

"Is that who did this?"

"Someone close to him," Sara said, feeling a buzz from her phone in her pocket. It was a text from Brass. They'd picked up Kevin, the murder weapon still in the idiot's jeans pocket. "Well. Looks like the case is closed now."

"Is there… is there anything else I can help with?" Dex asked.

Sara's face pulled into a puzzled expression.

"Like what?"

"Funeral arrangements, notification of the family," Dex said. "Anything."

"The police will take care of notification, and the family will take it from there," Sara said, seeing his face fall. "You've done all you can. Thank you for your cooperation."

"I just wish there was more I could do," Dex said softly. "I feel so bad."

Sara paused.

"Don't," she said honestly. "You couldn't have prevented this. And you helped bring the person responsible to justice. That's more than a lot of people can say."

He gave her a small smile and nodded, Sara turning to walk away.

"Um – Miss Sidle?"

Sara turned.

"Sara."

"Sara," Dex said. "Would you consider that dinner? Just – as friends."

When Sara hesitated, he cracked another small smile.

"I'm not a suspect anymore and I still don't see a ring," he said. "Just one dinner. Please. For all you've done."

"Okay," Sara said finally. "Why not?"

* * *

"It's just so senseless," Dex said, spearing another spring roll from the plate placed between them.

"When it comes to murder, it usually is," Sara said.

"How do you deal with it?" Dex asked. "Seeing stuff like that every day?"

Sara shrugged.

"I guess… at some point… you just get used to it," she said hollowly.

Dex pushed his appetizer around his plate and dropped his gaze.

"Was there anything that could have prevented it from happening?"

"Yeah," Sara said. "Her leaving Vegas."

"She changed her name," Dex pointed out. "Got a new job…"

"Not enough," Sara cut in. "Her boyfriend tried to _kill _her. Him being in jail and her having a new uniform was not enough to keep it from happening. She should have left town the moment he was arrested."

"Let's… talk about something else," Dex said. "Let's talk about you."

Sara smirked.

"I'm not that interesting."

"I beg to differ," he smiled. "I find you exceptionally interesting."

"You don't even know me," Sara said, taking a bite of spring roll to hide her smile.

"Let's change that."

Sara looked up and held his gaze as the waiter cut in and placed two plates of Chinese food before them.

"Observation number four," Dex said, eyeing her plate. "You're vegetarian."

"Number four?" Sara questioned. "What are one, two and three?"

Dex smiled.

"One – you're a very beautiful woman, but you don't know it," he said shyly. "Two – you're good at your job. And three – you're compassionate."

"Maybe you should consider a career change," Sara smiled. "Your powers of observation are astounding. But… you're not exactly correct."

"I'm pretty sure I am," he said. "How long have you been a CSI?"

"Fifteen years," Sara replied. "Two in San Francisco and thirteen here in Vegas."

"You're kidding me," Dex said. "You're a California girl? I grew up in Fresno – went to California State. Where did you grow up?"

"Tomales Bay," Sara answered, smiling.

"I used to go to Tomales Bay State Park all the time with my aunt and uncle," he said. "They lived in Santa Rosa and loved camping and boating."

"I went there all the time with my brother," Sara said. "We never went boating, we'd usually just sit on the beach and watch all the tourists – or skip rocks."

Dex leaned back in his chair, smiling and chuckling.

"We probably passed each other on the beach," he said. "Me, 21 years old and hauling my uncle's boating supplies around. You, a skinny, freckled, what- eleven, twelve-year-old?"

Sara smiled sadly and concentrated on pushing her food around her plate.

"I'm sorry," Dex said quickly. "Did I say something wrong?"

"No," she replied. "No, not at all. It's just – I wasn't in Tomales Bay by the time I was eleven."

"Where did you go to school?" Dex asked quickly, changing the subject. "Let me guess – Berkeley. Close by, and you seem like a smarty."

"Close," she laughed. "I went to Berkeley for grad school, but I was in Boston for undergrad."

"Please don't tell me Harvard," he said. "Or you'll intimidate me right out of this restaurant."

Sara smiled guiltily.

"Hey, I never asked you – did you get my note?"

"Your note?"

"The one with the flowers," Dex said cheekily.

"They – they were from you?" Sara stammered. "Why would you do that?"

"Because I like you," Dex said simply. "Dessert?"

Sara knew the words she should say, she could taste them on her tongue. _I'm married_. She should say them, right now, end this, before things got carried away or before she made a mistake. Separated or not separated, she made a vow to love and honor and cherish her husband. Always.

"Dessert would be great."


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: **I won't say too much about the latest CSI episode, because I know there are a few who haven't seen it and don't want to be spoiled. But if you have seen it, tell me in a review and we'll discuss! I thought a lot about this story Wednesday night!

* * *

Sara got the best night's sleep she'd had in months after getting home from dinner with Dex. She hated herself a little bit for it, but his company lifted her spirits in a way she didn't think possible. For the first time in a very long time, she felt wanted. Appreciated.

She walked into work with a lighter step. Why had she been making herself so inaccessible? It had only made her lonelier. All she'd needed was someone to make her smile again. She deserved that much. She deserved a friend.

"Sara," Greg said. "You're looking better."

"Hey," Sara smiled. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess."

"Sar-uh," DB said, striding towards them and emphasizing each syllable of her name. "Rumor has it you solved the Brown homicide."

"Yeah," Sara confirmed. "Brass has the guy in county lockup."

"You trying to set a record?" he asked while Sara smiled shyly. "I've got you out with Nick tonight – I expect this one to be done in under twenty-four."

"Ha ha," Sara said, snatching the assignment from her supervisor's hand.

"Nick's already out there," DB said. "Have a team full of overachievers."

"Guess I better step up my game," Greg winked, taking his assignment. "Later, gator."

She met Nick at an apartment complex downtown with a DB that was so obviously an overdose, it was practically unnecessary to investigate

"About time you got here," Nick said, not even looking up when she walked in. "David's already come and gone."

"What haven't you gotten yet?" Sara asked.

Nick nodded to a small pile of vomit near the victim's mouth. Sara smirked and pulled a plastic jar from her kit, kneeling next to the sick.

"Why are you being such an ass to me?" she asked casually.

"Why have you been acting like a bitch lately?" Nick shot back.

Sara screwed the top onto the jar and stared at him.

"You have no idea what I've had to deal with the last few weeks," she said.

"No, Sara, I haven't," Nick said. "Because you won't tell me a thing. I know you're not the touchy-feely type, but frankly, I'm tired of trying to care."

"Well, I'm glad you find it so easy to give up," Sara snapped, her phone beeping from her back pocket.

She yanked off her gloves and opened a text message.

_California girl. Let me buy you a beer after work?_

Sara bagged and labeled the jar and turned back to Nick, her arms crossed in front of her chest.

"So since you have this handled, you obviously won't mind if I take off," Sara said.

"Do whatever you want, Sara," he mumbled.

She took off, and made a call as soon as she was back in the Denali, instead of texting.

"Dex? It's Sara. A beer sounds good. Four beers sound better."

* * *

"You hustled me," Dex said on their third round. "You're going to drink me under the table."

Sara took a long gulp.

"I never said anything to the contrary," she giggled.

"Point taken," Dex smiled. "But you must have had one hell of a day for it to take three beers to get you to laugh."

"I've had one hell of a year," she said.

"Can I ask you something?"

Sara sighed and took another sip.

"Shoot."

"Do you love your job?"

"What?"

"Do you love your job?" he repeated. "You're good at it, but do you love it?"

"Of course I do," she said.

He raised an eyebrow in a way that was so Grissom-like, it made her heart drop into her stomach.

"Look, I'm obviously not speaking from experience," Dex said "But doing what you do… it has to get to you at some point. I have to imagine that after thirteen years… you get tired. Are you tired, Sara?"

Sara rubbed her temples, feeling the effects of the alcohol starting to swirl around her head.

"I'm exhausted," she said as softly as she could over the bar's music and chatter.

"Then why do you keep doing it?" he asked calmly.

Sara drained her bottle and focused her gaze on it like it was the most important thing in the world.

"Because I don't know who I'd be without it," she said finally.

Dex reached out and covered her hand with his. She looked up at him with a wobbly smile, and he moved his hand up toward her face, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Dex," she said slowly. "I know I… I'm not wearing a ring. But… I am married. Have been for five years."

Dex leaned in close.

"Sara," he said. "In my experience, someone who is married – five years or fifty-five years – and not wearing a ring… well, something isn't going right. Someone isn't happy. Why else did you agree to come here with me?"

"I don't know," Sara answered quietly. "I don't know why I'm here."

She pushed back from the table.

"I should go."

"No, Sara – stay," he said. "Please stay."

"I can't do this," she said, shaking her head. "I can't do this, it's not me."

"I'm not trying to make you do anything," he reassured. "I… I admit, I have a crush on you. But Sara, I would never do anything to jeopardize your marriage. I promise."

Sara nodded, still halfway out of her seat.

"You haven't hit your four beers yet," Dex joked.

"I'm sorry," she said guiltily.

"At least let me take you home."

She stared at him, long and hard, breathing deeply.

"Okay."

Besides for giving Dex directions to her townhouse, Sara was quiet the entire ride home. Dex filled the silence by talking about anything and everything – cracking jokes and telling her stories of the ridiculous things he'd seen working in a casino. He reminded her of Greg in a way, with a sense of humor that could make anyone smile, even when they didn't want to.

Eventually, they pulled into her driveway, and Dex put the car in park.

"So this is what being a CSI gets you," he said.

"It's a glamorous life we lead, I know," Sara replied, unbuckling her seat belt. "Thanks for the ride."

"Hey – Sara," Dex said, making her pause with her hand on the door. "Can I see you again? I mean, you know, hang out again?"

"Yeah," Sara smiled. "Soon."

"Soon," Dex repeated, a smile stretching across his face. "Goodnight, Sara."

"'Night."

She waved to him from her doorstep and let herself into her empty house. Hank was at the sitter's, since she'd anticipated a full night out in the field. She'd hear it from DB tomorrow about taking half a vacation day so last minute, but she didn't really care.

She pulled a cold beer from the refrigerator and took a sip from it as she sat on the couch. A pile of pillows and blankets sat where she left them hours earlier. Since Grissom left, she'd been sleeping on the couch. The sheets on the bed were still rumpled from their last encounter and, as silly as it was, she couldn't bring herself to go in there and see them. The last time she'd gone in there, to retrieve her watch from her jewelry box, the scent that greeted her was so strong, it brought tears to her eyes. It was a mix of the candles Grissom had lit and him. She'd closed the door and refused to go in since.

But sipping her beer, she decided she was being stupid. She put the bottle on a coaster and walked with purpose to the bedroom, thrusting open the door and pulling the sheets off the bed with a vengeance. It was doing her no good to hang on to things like this, the small romantic moments between tears and goodbyes. Because those moments weren't enough, they were fleeting and few and far between. She needed more. She deserved more.

She balled up the sheets and put them in the laundry, crossing back through the room to retrieve another set from her dresser. She opened the bottom drawer and stopped short. Placed on top of the folded sets was a beautiful, deep purple teddy. Next to it, a necklace; a round amethyst pendant in a matching purple color. She picked up the nightie first, fingering it softly. Grissom must have put it there when he was home, knowing she'd find it after he left. It was so like her husband, thinking gifts could make up for the miles between them. But she had to admit, each time she received a piece of jewelry or letter or framed photograph from him, it did make her feel close to him.

She lifted the necklace out next, the delicate chain looped around her fingers and the round gem dangling in front of her. She sat on the end of the bed, watching the purple stone swing back and forth.

Jesus. The man still knew how to spin her around in circles after all these years. Was it pathetic, that she needed so little to send her tumbling head over heels for him again?

She lifted her gaze to her cell phone sitting on top of the dresser. She should call him. They should talk.

As if on cue, her phone trilled its shrill ringtone and Sara jumped. She put the necklace down on the mattress beside her and answered the call without checking the ID.

"Gil, I—"

"Sara?"

"Catherine?"

"Sorry, did I catch you at a bad time?"

"No," Sara said quickly. "No, not at all. I was just hoping… never mind. How is D.C.?"

"Sometimes I question why I took this job," Catherine chuckled. "You think you know stress, start working with the feds."

Sara smiled, trying to keep her eyes off the necklace on the bed and the lingerie peeking out of the drawer.

"Did Lindsey visit for Thanksgiving?"

"She and her new boyfriend."

"Oh!" Sara said, trying her best to sound interested while she was so distracted. "How did that go over?"

"As you'd expect," Catherine said. "They met at a frat party, he's a senior, and she's a sophomore. Apparently, his parents are divorced – or something – and so she took the liberty of inviting him for Thanksgiving dinner. I don't know why I'm constantly surprised, it's typical Lindsey."

"Uh huh."

"You don't want to hear about this at all, do you?"

"No," Sara said apologetically. "I mean – yes, I do. I'm sorry, Catherine. I guess this isn't a great time after all."

"It's okay," Catherine said honestly. "I know distracted when I hear it. Is Dr. Grissom home, by any chance?"

"No," Sara said again. "No, he's not. I'm just… tired, I guess."

"Is everything okay at work?" Catherine asked. "The new guys – they still working out okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, they're fine," Sara said. "I mean, they're working out fine. I'm sorry, Cath, can I call you back?"

"Yeah," Catherine said, trying very, very hard not to sound concerned and failing miserably. "Just – promise you'll call me if you need to talk."

"I will."

"Sara Sidle," Catherine warned. "I'm serious. I know you. You say you're fine when you're not, and you say you'll call when you don't."

"I will, Catherine," Sara laughed. "I promise. Thanks."

"Bye."

Sara ended the call, and before she could talk herself out of it, dialed the shortcut for Grissom's cell phone.

_This is Gil Grissom. I'm unable to take your call, please leave a message. _

Sara opened her mouth, but no words came out, catching in her throat. She ended the call without saying a word. She tossed the phone aside, picking up the necklace instead and cradled it in her hand, curling up on the bare mattress and falling asleep, uncomfortable and alone.


	8. Chapter 8

Sara woke in the middle of the night, aching and groggy. She lifted her hand to rub her eyes and was bonked on the nose by the necklace still wrapped around her fingers. She untangled it and placed it delicately on the nightstand, picking up her phone and squinting at its harsh light.

3:22 a.m. and no missed calls. Not even from DB, wondering why she wasn't at work. She should get back to the lab and help Nick with the case they were supposed to be working together. She shoved her phone into her jeans and walked to the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee. She thought about taking Hank for a walk before leaving, but remembered she wasn't supposed to pick him up until tomorrow.

Eventually, she decided not to go back to work until her next shift started that night. She'd most likely face some anger from DB and hostility from Nick, but she needed a few hours to get her thoughts together.

She put on some music and threw herself into cleaning every inch of the townhouse. It kept her hands busy, but her mind unoccupied enough that she could focus on what the hell it was she wanted.

The fact was, she wanted her husband. She did. She still loved him, no matter what. That would never, ever change and that she knew for sure. She had surrendered her heart to him the moment they met in San Francisco a lifetime ago. It was his through those first, flirty years, the rocky ones that followed and every day since.

But the other fact was, they had a problem. They lived in two completely different worlds and wanted different things. She and Grissom… well, communication was never their strong point. They never really solved any of their arguments. They were restricted by time and distance. They were always working on a deadline. It was make up now, or fly thousands of miles and play phone tag until they couldn't remember what the argument was in the first place. That wasn't healthy. And now, it had happened one too many times and it had pushed both of them over the edge.

And now they were going to have to face it. If Grissom loved her as much as she knew she still loved him, they were going to have to learn to talk to each other. No makeup sex, no Skype conversations, no flirty text messages… no Band-Aids that only patched things up short-term, the wounds still there underneath. They had to be in this together.

If only he'd answer his damn phone.

She'd called him three times since her deep clean, her fingers puckered and dry from scrubbing. No luck. She didn't leave a voicemail. She wanted to actually talk.

She forced herself to put the phone down and get ready for work. Shower, dress, coffee. She made a pit stop at the Chinese place on Las Vegas Boulevard and prepared herself for the storm.

"Sara—"

Russell caught her the moment she stepped foot in the lab.

"I know," she stopped him. "I screwed up. I had to take care of some personal stuff and… I'm sorry."

"You should have –"

"Called," Sara finished. "I know. I'm really sorry. It won't happen again."

Her supervisor leveled her with a look, as if surveying her sincerity.

"Nick's looking for you," he said finally. "He's not happy."

"What do you think the Chinese is for?" she replied. "Thank you."

She found Nick in the break room with Greg, both of them pouring over case notes and autopsy photos.

"Hi," she said softly.

Greg smiled at her and shot a worried look towards Nick, who kept his eyes fixed firmly on the papers before him.

"Nick, look—" she began.

"You want to tell me what the hell that was yesterday?" he asked angrily.

Sara shot a helpless look at Greg, who looked more worried than angry.

"You have a nice date?" Nick asked. "Does your husband know?"

"Just let me explain," Sara said calmly.

"Explain?" Nick repeated dubiously. "I don't think so."

"Hey, lay off her," Greg cut in. "She has a lot on her plate right now."

"Like cheating on her husband?" Nick said. "He used to be our friend too, or have you forgotten?"

"I'm not cheating, Nick," Sara whispered, trembling. "I've never cheated on Gil."

"Seems like you were damn close."

"Nick!" Greg warned.

Nick threw up his hands in frustration.

"You know, you are the first to call me out on my crap," he said, talking right to Sara. "But the moment we get even _close_ to your personal life – it's hands off."

"He's just a friend," Sara whispered.

"I know," Greg said warmly.

"Stay out of it, Greg," Nick said.

"Look," Sara said softly, sitting a few seats away from Nick. "Things _have _been tough. I don't need to explain or defend anything to you, but I do need to apologize. So… I'm sorry."

She nudged the plastic bag of Chinese food.

"I come bearing won-tons," she added meekly.

"Ahhh," Nick half-groaned, tossing his papers aside. "I'm sorry too, Sara. Your marriage is none of my business. And I know you would never cheat."

"I just—"

Nick held up his hand.

"You said it yourself – no need to explain," he said.

Sara smiled.

"So," Greg said, breaking the silence. "I'm guessing there's nothing in that little bag for me?"

"Schezwan chicken," Sara grinned.

"And an egg roll?" Greg added hopefully.

"Don't insult me," Sara scoffed.

Greg pumped his fist in the air and Nick and Sara laughed as she passed around the food. They dug into their dinner and their cases, Nick catching Sara up on the body that wasn't so obviously a drug overdose after all.

"The vic had absolutely no money to his name," Nick said through a mouthful of moo shu pork. "I'm thinking he was in debt – big time – and couldn't pay up. Got whacked for it."

"Drugs?" Sara guessed.

"My thoughts exactly," Nick nodded. "Brass is following up."

"Speak of the devil!" Greg cut in.

"Man, if I had a dollar," Brass joked, dropping a folder on the table. "Found your suspect."

"The vic's drug dealer?" Nick asked.

"Yep," Brass said, fishing a plastic fork out of the stash near the fridge.

He beckoned to Sara's veggie fried rice. She rolled her eyes and slid the carton across the table.

"That was quick," she remarked.

"Well, he didn't cover his tracks very well," Brass said. "Veggie? Really?"

"Hey, beggars can't be choosers," Sara said. "These two scarfed theirs down."

"So what are waiting for?" Nick asked.

"Nothing," Brass said through a mouthful of rice. "Ready when you are."

"Let's roll," Nick said, grabbing an egg roll from the last carton with a wink.

"I uh, have to make a call real quick," she said. "I'll meet you out there."

Greg caught her eye and with a slight nod of her head, indicated she wanted privacy.

"It's high time for Hodges to be done with my results," Greg said, pointing to Sara before he left. "That last won-ton has my name on it."

"Thanks, Greg," Sara called.

She pulled her cell from her back pocket and stared at it for an entire two minutes before pressing "dial". The call went to voicemail after only three rings.

_This is Gil Grissom. I'm unable to take your call, please leave a message. _

"It's me," Sara said after the beep. "I know you… ignored my call. But… I really need to talk to you. Just… hear your voice."

She felt her voice start to wobble and cleared her throat.

"Call me back… please."

She ended the call and leaned forward on the table, kneading her temples. She'd lost count of how many calls that made in one day. She was very rapidly nearing pathetic.

The ringing of her phone startled her. She pressed it to her ear.

"H-hello?"

"Sara?"

"You called back," she breathed.

"You sounded upset," her husband said. "Are you at work?"

"Yeah," she replied. "But I'm alone."

"Is everything okay?"

"No," she admitted. "No… Gil, I-I don't know what to do."

"What do you mean?" he asked, his voice painfully toneless.

Sara squeezed her eyes shut, taking several deep breaths, trying to regain her composure, hoping he'd say something in the meantime. He didn't.

"I hate this," she said, her voice wobbling the moment sound slipped out. "What's happening to us. Gil, I…"

She broke off, lifting the phone away from her mouth so he wouldn't hear her sobs. It took several more minutes to catch her breath, and he stayed silent all the while.

"Gil, I want my ring back," she said finally.

"I don't have your ring," he said.

She felt like she ran into a brick wall. It was gone. The ring that symbolized their love and commitment was gone. And if it was gone, maybe he was too. For good.

"Sara, it's in your dresser drawer," he said, just as she began to feel dizzy. "Your top one. I thought – I hoped – you'd want it back. And I wanted it to be there when you did."

"Gil, I-I'll do the surgery," she whispered. "I'll do whatever it takes. I just want you to be happy."

"Sara – oh, honey, don't," he said. "I should have never… I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry too," Sara said. "W-what do we do now?"

"Tell you what," Grissom said. "I have to be in Egypt at least a few days more, a week – tops. But, honey, I _promise_ you, I will come home after that. And we will figure this out. We'll be okay. Do you trust me?"

Sara smiled through her tears.

"Intimately."

"I'll see you soon, Sara," he said after a pause.

"Okay," she whispered. Adding very suddenly, "I love you."

"I love you, too," he replied.

* * *

Their suspect went by "Snake Eyes" on the street, but his real name was Danny Perez. And the drug industry in Vegas must have been booming, because his house in Seven Hills was just as nice as any Sara had seen. There was an elementary school a few blocks away, dogs and fences in every yard. Hardly the obvious place to look for a murderous drug dealer. But then, Sara had learned to always look for the non-obvious.

Perez's house looked empty from the outside; garage door down, shades pulled and lights out.

"Do you think he knew we were coming?" Sara asked.

"I don't see how, but it's possible," Brass said.

"These guys have connections in every corner of the city," Nick put in. "Someone gave him a head's up."

"I'll make a call," Brass said.

"We'll ring the bell," Sara said, following Nick out the squad car.

"You make your call?" Nick asked as they walked up the concrete drive.

"Yeah, I did," Sara replied, staring straight ahead but smiling.

"Good."

She could hear the smile in his voice too.

"So, if this guy is home and we're standing on his doorstep without Brass or backup," Nick said. "Then what?"

Sara snorted.

"Then we're royally screwed."

"Yeah," Nick replied, reaching out to ring the bell. "We'd—"

Then, the world went black.


	9. Chapter 9

When Sara woke, her entire body screamed in protest. She felt like she'd just collapsed after running a marathon, or had fallen asleep in the same position for so long, her muscles forgot how to move. Her head pounded and swirled, she felt a few stinging scratches – or worse – on her cheek.

"Sara – oh my God!"

She looked up to see Greg standing at the door, cup of coffee in hand and looking like he hadn't slept in months. His clothes were wrinkled and his hair messy – for once, not on purpose.

"You look like hell," she croaked, her throat dry.

"Here," Greg said, swapping his coffee for a cup of water that was resting on a small side table. He held it out to her. "How do you feel?"

"Like I have the world's worst hangover," she said, sipping the water and relishing the coolness on her throat. "What happened?"

"You don't remember?"

At once, she did. Well, all of it up until the explosion.

"How's Nick?" she rushed. "And Brass?"

"Brass is fine – not a scratch," Greg answered. "Nick's okay too, sprained wrist, but other than that, he's just fine. They let him go home yesterday."

"Yesterday?"

"Sara," Greg said slowly. "You've been out for over a day. The blast it – it blew you right into a tree, knocked the wind out of you. The whole team, well, we've been…"

"Grissom," Sara breathed.

"What?"

"Grissom," Sara said a little louder. "Is he – is he here?"

Greg's face fell.

"No," he said softly. "Sara, I'm so sorry—"

"Can you call him? I want to… I want him here."

"Sara," Greg said sadly. "Brass did – as soon as it happened. So did Nick, last night. Nobody's heard from him."

"Maybe he's… maybe he's trying to call me," Sara said. "Where's my phone?"

"Right here," Greg replied apologetically, reaching into his pocket and pulling out her phone. "I was keeping it on me for that very reason."

He handed it to her. No missed calls. She stared at her wallpaper – a Parisian sunset she'd snapped from the balcony of their flat, years ago now – until the phone went black again.

"I don't understand," she said softly.

"I'm sure there's a perfectly reasonable explanation," Russell said from the door. "Glad to see you're okay, Sara. How are you feeling?"

Before she could answer, Nick pushed past their supervisor, and Greg, looking her up and down.

"You all right?" he rushed. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," Sara nodded against the pillows.

Nick went on to explain how their suspect had fled town the moment he got word of the police on his tail, but not before rigging his house with explosives. He had set it up to go off the moment someone pushed the doorbell.

"We must have just missed him, if we were the first to ring the bell," Sara mused.

"Don't worry about the case right now," Russell said, putting his hand lightly on hers. "We'll handle it."

A nurse dressed in scrubs walked through the door to join their crowd, looking at her chart and taking her vitals.

"How do you feel?" she asked.

"Dizzy," Sara answered. "Aching."

"We'll get you some medication for the pain," the nurse assured. "Just take it easy. I'll send the doctor over in a few minutes."

"Hey, kiddo, you're up," Brass said, joining the group. "Is Gil here yet?"

"Not yet," Greg squirmed.

"Egypt isn't a hop, skip and a jump away, he could be on his way as we speak," Russell reasoned.

"Or he could be an obstinate ass."

"Nick!"

"He'll be here—"

"Then why hasn't he called?"

Sara pressed her eyes closed.

"Guys," she heard Greg say quietly. "We should give her some space. Room to breathe."

She opened her eyes to see four apologetic faces looking at her.

"You'll call, if you need something, right?" Russell asked, nodding at her phone.

Sara nodded.

"We'll come back and see you – one at a time, I mean," Nick said. "We'll take you home when you're ready."

Sara nodded again and one by one, they filed out the door until she was left with Greg.

"You sure you're all right?" he asked.

She nodded for a third time, but as he lowered himself back into the chair beside her, she finally spoke.

"Greg," she said softly. "Thank you for being here – for being you – but… I could really use some time to myself."

"Okay," Greg said. "I understand. Just… promise you will call, if you need anything. Okay?"

"Okay."

She watched him walk away, down the hall and exchange a few words with a man whom she presumed was her doctor before disappearing around the corner. The doctor came in and did exactly what the nurse did a few moments ago. She answered all his questions and took the medicine he gave her willingly, hoping it would lull her into a deep sleep. He walked out after promising to check in on her again, leaving her alone in the quiet room.

She raised her left hand, covered in scratches, and stared at the empty spot on her ring finger. After they finished at the dealer's house, Sara was going to ask Nick if they could swing by her place on their way back to the lab. She couldn't bear not having her ring on her one more minute. She'd only been wearing it a few years, but the pale circle around her finger made it seem like it'd been there forever.

She put her hand back down and closed her eyes, leaning her head back into the pillows. Where was Gil? Was he on his way? Or was there still some part of him that felt hostility toward her, for not being able to give him what he wanted?

A knock at the door startled her. Her eyes snapped open as she jumped, hoping to find Gil in the doorway. Instead, she saw her mother-in-law, looking worried and with an armful of flowers.

Sara lifted her hands to say hello.

"_Don't worry about signing_," Betty signed after putting the flowers on her bedside table. "_I don't want to tire you." _

"_I'm okay_," Sara signed.

"_Thank goodness_," Betty shook her head. "_This job is much to dangerous. I remember…_"

"_What?_" Sara asked when the older woman paused.

"_I remember when you were kidnapped, years ago,_" Betty went on. "_Gilbert was beside himself, even when he knew you'd be okay._"

Betty paused and glanced around Sara's room.

"_Where is he now?_"

Sara lifted and lowered a shoulder, avoiding Betty's gaze.

"_He'll be here, dear,_" Betty signed before patting Sara's shoulder gently. "_If I know my son, he'll be here. And if he's not, then I'll lecture him myself_."


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: **Well... my plans to post early didn't quite pan out. Sorry about that! But here's the next chapter for you, and I hope it makes up for it :)

* * *

She didn't sleep much that night. She always had a hard time falling asleep in a strange place, especially hospitals.

Greg, Nick and Brass all stopped by before work, bringing jokes and company. None of them mentioned the fact that her husband hadn't been heard from in nearly a day.

DB called around dinner, telling her he'd heard from her doctor and she was allowed to go home later that evening.

"I have to be in to hand out assignments," he said. "But I'll come by right after and take you home."

Sara ended the call and lifted her eyes to the door, feeling someone's presence there. She expected to see her doctor, maybe Greg, who promised to bring by take-out if she wanted. What she saw was her husband, looking small and scared, staring at her as if he was seeing her for the first time.

He made a beeline from the doorway to her side, immediately taking her hand. She looked down at their intertwined fingers.

"My God, Sara," Grissom whispered. "What happened?"

"What do you mean?" Sara stammered. "I… I thought Nick called you."

"Nick?" Grissom repeated before pausing.

He used his free hand to dig around in his pocket, pulling out his cell phone. The screen was black, and stayed that way even when he hit the home key.

"I turned it off when I got on the plane," he said slowly. "I must have missed his call… and forgotten to turn it back on."

"Then… how did you know?"

"I went to the lab," Grissom explained. "Nobody from Grave was there yet, but the front desk… they told me you were here, I came straight over."

"But… if you didn't know, why did you leave Egypt?" Sara asked. "And… Nick called you yesterday."

"It's a long way trip," Grissom said with a slight smile. "And I'm here because… I said I would be. I think it's high time I start coming through with my promises."

He tucked his phone back into the pocket of his slacks and reached out to tenderly touch her cheek.

"Are you okay?"

"Tired," Sara answered honestly. "Still a little confused and with a nagging headache, but… I'll be okay."

Grissom hadn't taken his eyes off her since walking into the room. And now, his eyes stayed on her, examining every inch of her as if to confirm she was telling the truth. After a few moments, his gaze rested on the thin chain around her neck. He reached out to touch it, his fingers skimming each link of the chain until pulling the little purple gem out from under her hospital gown.

"The necklace I left you," he said softly.

Sara brought her hand to her collarbone, her fingers resting lightly on top of her husband's. His touch was warm and gentle. Even though his clothes were wrinkled and he smelled slightly of a stale airplane, having him there meant the world to her. For a minute, she thought they might have been over. For good.

It would have been so easy to kiss him, let his lips melt away everything that had happened over the last few months. Every argument, every angry word, every shed tear.

But she promised herself – no more Band Aids. They were going to work through it this time. For real.

She lifted Grissom's hand down with her own, letting it rest on her blanket-covered legs. Both their hands were intertwined and Grissom was leaning so close to her that she could smell the scent of Juicy Fruit on his tongue.

"Honey?"

The word was soft, barely a whisper. Tears threatened her, but she held onto them.

"We have a lot to talk about," she said, her voice a bit more wobbly than she would have liked.

"Yes," Grissom agreed quietly. "Yes, we do. But honey…"

He pulled his right hand from hers and put it back on her cheek, gliding his thumb gently over the long, red scratches she'd gotten from being blown back into a tree.

"We don't have to do it now," he finished. "You're in the hospital and, well, my heart's still on overdrive from when they told me you were here."

"I should be able to leave in a few hours," Sara said. "Why don't you go home – shower and get some sleep – and I'll see you when I get back."

"No," Grissom said firmly. "I'm staying – here – with you."

Sara smiled and squeezed his fingers.

"Does anyone know you're here?" she asked.

Grissom winced.

"Do they entirely hate me?"

"Nick's not too thrilled," Sara admitted. "But he'll come around when he learns it was just a misunderstanding."

"I can't say I blame him," Grissom said with a small wink. "Even I'd think I was a jerk if I didn't come here right away."

"If it helps any, DB gave you the benefit of the doubt."

"I knew I liked that guy."

Sara laughed as a nurse entered bearing a hospital dinner on a tray. Grissom sat next to her as she sipped the vegetable soup and spooned Jell-o out of the plastic cup. Her doctor came by a few minutes later flanked by more nurses to take Sara's vitals and ask about her pain and dizziness and readiness to go home. Eventually, the doctor told her with a smile that she as free and clear to leave, although he strongly advised staying away from work for at least a week. Grissom had just finished helping her dress when a knock signaled someone at the door. Grissom opened it to find a thin, tall, white-haired man he instantly recognized as DB Russell.

"Dr. Grissom," the man said with surprise. "I didn't know…

"Me, either," Sara chimed in, one arm in the sleeve of her jacket, the other sleeve hanging limply by her side.

"Let me help you with that," Grissom chuckled, easing her arm through the opening before turning back to DB. "It's nice to finally meet you."

"Likewise," Russell said. "I came here to take Sara home, but I'm guessing you have that handled."

"I was just about to call a cab."

"Let me take you back," Russell offered. "Please. It's why I came anyways and it'll delay the inevitable paperwork I have to get to once I go back to work."

"I certainly don't miss that," Grissom chuckled, smiling at Sara as she passed by him and followed Russell out of the room.

"I can't imagine they have too many reports to file in the Egyptian desert, do they?"

They kept the conversation light and animated on the drive home, Russell and Grissom exchanging stories on the ins and outs of the lab and the adventures of anthropological digs, respectively, while Sara sat in the backseat and watched with amusement. It was a little strange, seeing the two of them interact. It was like having two very different, very separate parts of her world collide.

Russell shifted the car into park in her driveway.

"Dr. Grissom, pleasure to put a face with a name," Russell said, shaking her husband's hand again before twisting around in his seat. "Sara, I expect to not see hide nor hair of you for a week."

"Doctor's orders," she grumbled.

"And don't you forget it," Russell winked.

Sara thanked him for the ride and led the way to the front door and inside the townhouse, Grissom pressing the door closed behind him.

"Where's our slobbery better half?"

Sara pressed her eyes closed.

"Shoot," she muttered. "I was supposed to pick him up yesterday. Casey's going to hate me."

"I'll call her," Grissom said quickly, referring to Hank's trusty dog sitter. "You just… sleep, eat, shower – whatever – just don't worry."

"Maybe…" Sara started. "Maybe we can leave Hank with Casey just one more night."

"Keep it just the two of us?"

Sara smiled nervously. Grissom set the phone back down and went to her, placing a kiss near her ear and studying her face when he pulled back.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

Sara nodded.

"Just… scared," she said.

"Scared?" he repeated. "Honey – why?"

"I… I'm afraid we won't be able to work this out," she said. "I'm afraid we don't know how to be… together… any more."

Grissom dropped his hand and held hers, linking their fingers.

"I'm scared about that, too," he admitted. "It's certainly been a while."

Sara nodded, dropping her gaze.

"But," he continued. "I was thinking… on the way over here. I don't know how we got to this point, but I do know that, through everything, the way I feel about you hasn't changed one bit. I love you, more than the day we married, and… if we still have that – the way we feel about each other – then… anything's possible. Right?"

Sara swallowed hard, giving him a wobbly smile.

"Right."

Grissom grinned widely, his eyes brimming with tears and sparkling with hope. He leaned towards her.

"Wait," she whispered, pulling back.

She left him on the couch, disappearing into the bedroom and reappearing a few moments later. She held up her left hand, wiggling her finger at him. The gold of her wedding band sparkled.

"Much better," she said, sitting back next to him on the sofa. "Now… where were we?"


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: **Is anyone else going absolutely CRAZY with anticipation of next week's episode? I might self-combust before Wednesday. Sheesh.

Anyway, hope you enjoy this and maybe will send good vibes to "Forget Me Not"!

* * *

"Sara," Grissom said slowly, sighing. "I don't even know where to start."

"At the very beginning," Sara suggested with a smile. "It's a very good place to start."

Grissom gave a small smile back to her, picked up her hand and pressed her fingers to his lips. He lowered their hands together, still staring at her fingers. His thumb brushed back and forth over them, finally resting near her wedding ring.

Sara watched him carefully, finally raising her eyes to meet his. She was surprised to see them clouded with tears.

"Gil?"

"I'm so sorry, Sara," he whispered. "I let you down."

Sara felt her husband's hand tremble and copied his calming action, brushing her fingers across his knuckles.

"Gil—"

"No," he interrupted. "Let me finish. Sara… I can be so blind. I love you more than anything, but I am so blind sometimes. I hurt you – more than once – then I pushed you away and hurt you more. I asked too much of you. I made you feel like you weren't enough. And through all of it, I stayed thousands of miles away, when all you probably wanted was for me to be here with you. And… I'm sorry."

As he spoke, he kept his eyes focused on their intertwined fingers. Sara studied him closely, knowing how difficult it was for him to speak so candidly. And when he finished, he let out a small sigh. Of relief, or disappointment, she couldn't tell, but the words were what she needed to hear. To start.

"You did," she said, as her husband surprised her again by choking out a small sob. "You put distance between us, in more ways than one, and it killed me, Gil. It killed me."

Her husband nodded like a shamed child, and Sara felt her own tears rise in her eyes.

"Why?" she whispered, her voice quivering. "Why can't you just _talk _to me? Why do you expect so much of me?"

"I don't expect you to be anything but who you are," Grissom said. "That's why I love you. I don't know how I let things get so out of control. I thought I knew what I wanted and I wanted to fight for it. But I ended up fighting you."

"What are you saying?" Sara asked softly.

"Honey, I would love to have a baby with you," he said. "But I… I can't make that decision alone and I was selfish to think I could."

"Gil," Sara said, her voice wobbling. "I haven't changed my mind. I know what I want and… it's not what you want. And… I don't know where that leaves us."

"Right here," Grissom answered. "It leaves us right here – with the two of us. We don't need a child to become a family. We already are one."

Sara shook her head, pulling her fingers away from Grissom's to wipe a steam of tears from running trails down her cheeks.

"How do I know you won't change your mind?" Sara asked. "Two years ago… we never dreamed we'd be having this conversation. We were on the same page."

"Honey, I don't think we're ever on the same page," Grissom said lightly as Sara gave him a weak smile. "But I won't change my mind… because I haven't. I know what I want."

Sara felt a knot the size of a tennis ball rise in her throat.

"But," Grissom continued. "I also know that you, Sara, are the most important thing in the world to me. I will do anything for you. And I mean anything."

"Gil, this isn't about what we want for dinner," Sara said. "It's about if we want _children_. This is something people split up over, don't get married over. How do we work past this?"

"You just have to trust me," Grissom said. "We can do this."

Sara sunk into the couch, curling up against the cushions and trying to make herself as small as she felt.

"Sara? Say something?"

"I just," she sniffled, burying her head into the sofa. "I don't think I can handle knowing that, no matter what you say, I'm letting you down, day in and day out."

"You're not let—"

"I am," Sara cut in, speaking louder and more forcefully, pushing more tears out her eyes. "One of these days, it'll be too much for you and… we can't always count on an explosion or near-death experiences to bring us back together."

Grissom shifted his weight across from her. Even without peeking from around the cushion, Sara knew he was frustrated. She knew what he was trying to say, she just couldn't make herself believe it, as much as she wanted to. Who's to say that two, ten or twenty years down the road, he wouldn't start resenting her for refusing to give him the one thing he wanted most? He can't promise that, as much as he might swear it now.

"I really don't know what else to say," Grissom said flatly. "Sara, I can't give you more than my word. And you have it."

Sara nodded.

"Okay."

"Is that all?"

"That's all," she confirmed. "It's just going to take some time."

"Sara, if that was all, you wouldn't still be curled up on the opposite side of the couch."

Sara sighed and pulled her head from the cushion. Reluctantly, she dragged her eyes to meet his, apologetic, yet firm.

"You don't trust me, do you?" Grissom asked slowly.

Sara's lower lip wobbled.

"I do…"

"That's not a ringing endorsement."

"I do," she repeated, with a little more conviction. "I just need some time."

Grissom huffed and shifted again, and Sara felt her own frustration rising.

"Can you really blame me?" she asked. "These past few months have been hell on me. I acted like someone I didn't recognize. I fought with Nick. I avoided your calls. I cried at night. Excuse me if everything doesn't come crashing back to perfect with a simple apology."

"What do you expect me to say?" Grissom replied. "I hurt you, and I hate myself for it, but if you don't believe me, and you don't trust me… what am I supposed to do?"

"I don't know," Sara whispered. "I just…"

"Need more time," Grissom cut in gruffly.

"I do," Sara breathed. "After everything, you at least have to give me that. Let me take things one day at a time."

Grissom looked at her from across the couch for so long, she wasn't sure he was going to say anything at all.

"Okay," he finally sighed.

Sara nodded.

"Thank you… for being here," she said. "And for being honest. That's all I've ever asked."

She pulled herself up from the depths of the couch, feeling her husband's eyes follow her movement.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"Bed," Sara answered. "In case you've forgotten, I almost got blown up yesterday."

Grissom smiled, despite himself.

"Can I… come with you?"

Sara smiled back at him, both in sadness and relief.

"Of course you can," she said. "But… one day at a time, okay?"

Together, they moved from the living room to the bedroom. The mattress lay bare and empty, a set of sheets lying folded near the footboard. She must have forgotten to make the bed after stripping it days ago. Sara reached for the fitted sheet, shaking it in front of her.

"Let me help," Grissom said, grabbing a corner.

They silently made the bed together, from fitted sheet to the pillow covers, and when they finished, they stood staring at each other from opposite sides of the mattress. Sara felt a flutter deep within her, like she was on a first date with her high school crush.

"There's a, uh, extra toothbrush in the top drawer," she stammered, awkwardly breaking the silence.

Grissom gave her a half-smile and a quirk of the eyebrow, realizing he was being dismissed. He disappeared into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. Sara sat on the edge of the bed, on top of the folded comforter, listening to the faucet run. It was hard to believe her husband was here – home – and was staying, at least for a little while. It was beginning to feel stranger to have him home than it was for him to be away.

She crossed the room to her tall dresser, digging through the drawers for her pajamas. Her fingers found soft silk, and she lifted the deep purple gown Grissom had left her the last time he was in this bedroom. She fingered the delicate lace, her eyes darting to the bathroom door and back, but eventually, she tucked the teddy back into the depths of the drawer, pulling out one of her most worn t-shirts and softest cotton shorts instead. The lace would have to be saved for another time.

She was still holding the pajamas when Grissom stepped out of the bathroom.

"You look like you're deep in thought," he chuckled.

"Nah," she shrugged. "Just getting ready. You done?"

His smile faded a little as he nodded. He didn't move from the doorway, so she tried to brush past, but he caught her arm, his light hold making goose bumps rise on her arms. She could smell the mint on his breath as he placed a light kiss near her ear. She stood frozen for a second, even though he'd released her and moved from her way.

She pressed her back against the closed door, feeling tears rise once again. Why does everything insist on being so complicated with this man? He could frustrate her within an inch of her life, but small moments like those made her love him so damn much.

Her body ached a little as she changed into her pajamas, the painkillers she'd last taken at the hospital were starting to wear off. Hopefully a good night's sleep would kill the headache making a pounding comeback.

She tied her hair back into a knot, washed her face and brushed her teeth. She dried her hands on the towel Grissom had left near the sink and picked up her discarded clothes.

"You look nice," Grissom said when she walked back into the bathroom.

She snorted. The t-shirt was so faded, you could hardly read the word "Harvard" printed in maroon across the chest. It was also so large, it almost completely covered her tiny cotton shorts.

She threw her clothes in the wash and slipped into bed next to him. He immediately slid a warm palm over her stomach and planted another minty kiss just to the right of her mouth.

"How are you feeling?" he whispered.

"Okay," she replied. "Sore. And tired."

She reached over to the lamp on the bedside table and flipped it off, plunging the room into darkness.

"I don't think I ever said… I'm glad you're okay," Grissom said.

Sara smiled in the dark.

"I know you are."

"We still have a lot to talk about, don't we?"

"Yeah," Sara admitted. "But tonight was a big step. And I'm glad you're here."

Grissom gave her hip a squeeze.

"Me too."


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N:** Welp. Here we are, post-"Forget Me Not". I've exhausted my brain analyzing every detail of the episode, and discussed with a lot of you! If you haven't yet, send me a note and tell me what you think of the state of GSR! Also, I posted a post-ep called "He Loves Me Not", if you haven't seen that yet :)

Also, sorry this is later than usual!

* * *

Sara woke the next morning to the smell of pancakes. Which was odd, since she usually didn't stock anything more than coffee, bananas and cold pizza in her kitchen at any given time.

It was also odd seeing as there was a warm, wiggling body still in bed next to her.

She threw the covers back and was greeted by a blast of dog breath and Hank's slobbery kiss.

"Someone was anxious to see you."

Sara looked up to see Grissom in the doorway, freshly showered, holding two plates with healthy stacks of pancakes on them.

"When did he get here?"

"I picked him up on the way back from the grocery store," Grissom said.

"Jeez," Sara murmured, kneading her temples with her fingers. "How long did I sleep?"

"A while," Grissom answered, crossing into the room. "But I figured you needed it, after yesterday and the day before."

"Thanks," Sara smiled. "It feels weird waking up when the sun's out."

Sara accepted one of the pancake plates and Grissom nudged Hank out of the bed with his knee.

"I'm glad you woke," he said. "A few more minutes and it would have been an inappropriate time for pancakes."

"It's always an appropriate time for pancakes," Sara retorted. "Did I really sleep that long?"

Grissom nodded, passing her a jar of syrup, his mouth full of food. Sara poured a puddle of syrup onto her plate and took her first bite.

"This is really nice," she said. "Thank you."

Grissom winked and they finished their breakfasts in amicable silence, Hank whining at their feet and keeping a sharp eye out for a piece of fallen pancake.

"How are you feeling?" Grissom asked when Sara had sponged up syrup with the last of her pancakes.

"Miles better," Sara said.

"Good," Grissom said.

He pressed a kiss to her forehead and took her empty plate from her hands. He disappeared down the hallway to take the dirty dishes to the sink. The moment he left the room, Hank's ears perked up, no longer disappointed in the lack of stray crumbs. Sara laughed and patted the bed, the mattress shifting with the boxer's weight as he jumped up next to her. He walked around in several circles before settling down in the comforters, his head on Sara's lap. She scratched his ears absentmindedly, wondering what the day would bring.

When Grissom returned, he came back holding her cell phone.

"I put it on silent so it wouldn't wake you," he explained. "But you may want to call the lab, I'm sure they're worried."

Sara scrolled through at least a dozen missed calls from various members of the lab, more than half of them from Greg and Nick alone.

"Want me to give you some privacy?" Grissom asked.

"No," Sara said, placing the phone next to the clock on the table beside her. "I'll call them later."

"I see someone's made themselves at home," Grissom said, nodding to Hank.

"Sorry," Sara laughed. "You snooze, you lose."

Grissom smiled and sat on the edge of the bed near Sara's feet.

"So, I've been thinking," he began. "And I thought… if you're up to it… maybe we could go out today. Somewhere."

"Yeah," Sara smiled. "Okay."

Grissom grinned back at her before falling serious.

"I was also thinking," he continued. "And… I think maybe the best way to figure this out is to just spend time more with each other. Get to know each other all over again."

Sara thought about it, absentmindedly scratching Hank's ears as she did. Incredulously, spending time with her husband seemed almost daunting. It had been so long. But at the same time, it was the very thing she'd been asking for all along, and the one thing that could save them.

"What were you thinking?"

"Well," Grissom said slowly, a smile crossing back over him. "I bought a few more things at the store… how do you feel about a picnic?"

"If the menu includes your mom's pasta salad, I'm ecstatic."

"Made, packed and ready to go in the fridge."

"So… to be clear; are you asking me on a date?" Sara teased, her smile wide.

"Yeah, I guess I am," Grissom grinned back.

"Gimme time to shower, and I'm in," Sara said excitedly. "Oh – and I should call the lab."

"I'll finish up the sandwiches," Grissom said, leaning into kiss her and give Hank and playful shove. "Take your time."

Hank, sensing food, followed Grissom out to the kitchen and Sara reached out for her phone. She tried Greg first, but the call went to voicemail, so she called Nick next.

"Hello," he answered groggily.

Sara felt instantly guilty for waking him up – she'd somehow forgotten this was her normal sleeping time.

"Sorry Nick – I forgot the time!"

"Sara!" Nick exclaimed, sounding instantly awake. "No – I'm glad you called! Are you okay? How are you feeling?"

"So much better – sleep does wonders," Sara replied. "How are you? How's your wrist?"

"Oh, it's fine," Nick dismissed. "Not going to be breaking down any doors this week, but it should heal up soon. Your old man show up?"

"Yes," Sara chided. "With a perfectly good explanation as to why he didn't answer your call, I'll have you know."

"Okay," Nick said, sounding skeptical. "You need me to come over with pizza and beer before shift for some good old fashioned company?"

"Thanks, but no thanks," Sara laughed. "Grissom wants us to spend more time together, and I think I'm looking forward to it."

"I'm glad," Nick said softly, sounding like he meant it. "I'll let you go. Call me if you need me, okay?"

"I will, bye Nick."

The warm beads of water against her skin in the shower felt better than anything. The heat relaxed whatever tension was left in her muscles and she was able to wash away the hospital and everything else that had happened in the last forty-eight hours. She let her hair air-dry, put on only a brush of mascara and, after a quick check of the weather on her phone, pulled on a pair of khaki shorts and a sleeveless black top. By the time she poked her head into the kitchen, Grissom had their lunch packed and Hank on a leash.

He held her hand the whole drive, they fell into a natural, easy conversation and Sara could feel a knot loosening in her chest. She feared that, after all this time, she'd forgotten how to be with her husband. She had feared that their interaction would be awkward and forced, but there was nothing forced about the way he was looking at her now, and nothing awkward about the way he laughed at her jokes.

He pulled into a gravel parking lot at Lake Mead, which was unusually quiet for a sunny Friday. Grissom let Hank off his leash – who immediately bounded into the water – while Sara gathered up their picnic from the backseat. They spread a blanket near a tree and dug in.

"Sara," Grissom said eventually, through a mouthful of pasta salad.

"Hmm?"

"I'm going to ask you an honest question, and I want you to give me an honest answer."

Sara lowered her sandwich and looked at him carefully. She knew this was coming, and it was better to get it out of the way if they were to move on, but it didn't make it any easier.

"Okay," she said finally.

"Why don't you want to have children?"

Sara squirmed.

"Gil," she sighed. "We've gone over this."

"No, we haven't," Grissom said. "Not really. We've skirted around it for too long."

Sara looked past him to the lake, where Hank was still frolicking in the water. The truth was, she had no answer. She could be completely honest with herself and with him and he wouldn't believe her, because there was no answer. She just wasn't meant to be a mother. She didn't have it in her. And it wasn't fair to a child to be born to someone who felt that way. When she looked back at her husband, she was surprised to feel her eyes fill with tears.

"Gil," she said, her voice breaking.

"Sara," he replied, gently but firmly. "I need you to tell me. You know we need to do this."

"Because I don't need something more," Sara said finally. "I am happy – beautifully happy – with you and me."

"But honey," Grissom cut in. "Can you imagine how much happier we'd be with three – with a baby?"

"Please," Sara said. "Let me finish. I can't… morally… bring a child into this world when its not wanted. It would hate me. We'd be having a baby for all the wrong reasons. I'm not ready."

"Sara, nobody's ready," Grissom said. "But you learn. It comes naturally. And sometimes you don't know how much you want something – or someone – until you have it."

"You're really not listening," Sara pleaded. "I _know_ what I want, and I _know_ it won't change. I won't have a baby because you want one, or because I'm getting older, or because it's what society views as the next logical step. I just… I don't have it in me."

"Because of your mother?"

Sara stared hard at him, swallowing her automatic refusal. There was more to it, but that was part of it.

"I know I'm not my mother, and I never will be," Sara clarified.

Grissom went back to quietly eating his pasta salad, and Sara could tell his frustration was coming back with a vengeance.

"You wanted me to be honest," Sara said suddenly as Grissom lifted his head. "So here it is. I feel like you want a baby as a fix – to fix our marriage, to keep you in town, to complete the things you never got to do – whatever that may be. I feel like you don't realize that having a child could just force more resentment into our marriage, because we will always be on two completely different pages. I feel like you don't realize that sometimes I wish – I really wish – that I do want what you want."

"Sara—"

She held up her hand, wiping her eyes before continuing.

"I feel like there must be something wrong with me for not wanting what every normal woman wants," she said. "Maybe that's because of my mother, maybe not. But as much as I wish that I could just be normal, I just… I can't. Okay. That's all."

Sara wiped her eyes again and sighed. Grissom gave her that half-crooked, slightly smirk-y smile of his and she lost it.

"What?" she demanded. "I pour my heart out to you, and all you can do is laugh?"

"Because you're right," Grissom said. "You're always right. You always know what you want, and that's why I love you."

He set aside his fork and took her hand.

"I do want a baby," he said. "And I think I always will. But a lot of what you said makes a whole lot of sense. You've always been a lot more adept at matters of the heart than I."

He smiled at her again and this time, she smiled back.

"Honey, I meant what I said last night," Grissom continued. "We already are a family, and we always will be. I know you don't believe me when I say it, but I will never hold it against you. Never, Sara."

"But… how could you not?"

"Because I love you more than I could possibly describe," Grissom said. "I know I haven't acted like it – leaving you holding down the fort alone for so long, but… Sara… if you had asked me to stay – straight up – I would have stayed. But my guess is… you love me too much to ask."

Sara's chin wobbled and she bit her lip to keep her from sobbing.

"Stay," she blurted. "Please stay."

Grissom pushed past the basket between them and gathered her up in his arms. The sob she was trying to keep in escaped her.

"I'll stay," he whispered into her hair. "Sara, I'll stay."


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N:** I honestly can't remember if I was able to reply to all of last chapter's reviews, if any. If I didn't, I am so sorry! It's been one heck of a week at work and I have a lot of catching up to do.

This chapter brings this story to an end! Thanks to everyone who has left a review, I really appreciate it. I'm currently in my local PD's Citizen's Police Academy, and have been covering a murder trial for the last few weeks, so I have lots of story ideas a'brewin' :)

Enjoy!

* * *

The day after their picnic, Grissom took Sara to a drive-in movie and they cuddled in the front seat under a few layers of blankets. The next day, they took a day trip to Primm to ride Grissom's favorite roller coaster half a dozen times before lunch. He took her on date after date, launched her with surprise after surprise, and every day, the knot in her stomach would feel just a little bit looser.

Sara began to feel like she had in the early days of their relationship – blissfully happy, anxiously excited to see what each day would bring and wondering if it was too good to be true. They were each slowly realizing that their big problems didn't seem so big if they both worked a little at it.

And they were. They talked – really talked – which Sara was willing to bet was a first in their relationship. Grissom kept his promise; even after Sara was cleared by her doctor and returned to work, he stayed. Sara fell asleep beside him each night, woke up next to him the following morning and his rapidly improving cooking skills provided her meals after work.

She kept waiting for something to happen; kept waiting for it all to fall apart. She wished she could revel in the happiness and let herself believe that, finally, everything was going to be okay, but that was who she was. There had been so much of the bad, she couldn't let herself trust the good.

But four months to the day after she'd been released from the hospital, her husband was still there.

She came home from a particularly grueling shift that night, looking forward to a blissful three days off. The house was eerily dark and quiet when she walked in. She absolutely loved the house she and Grissom had bought when she returned from Paris to work in Vegas, but though it allowed them to keep a number of beautiful plants, the amount of windows and glass walls did still unnerve her at night.

"Gil?" she called out.

"In here," she heard her husband call back.

She dropped her coat and keys in the kitchen and made her way to the bedroom, where she guessed Grissom was hiding. Her hunch was right – he was sitting on the bed, waiting for her. The lights were off in here too, but he had placed teacup candles on every inch of every flat surface available. Sara giggled softly.

"What's all this for?"

"You," Grissom replied.

He got up and retrieved two glasses of wine from the dresser.

"I figured since I missed our anniversary," he went on. "And… well, my last romantic gesture didn't go so well…"

"You mean the one where I almost shot you?"

"That's the one," Grissom said with a hint of a smile. "Well, I figured I owe you one."

Sara put her wine carefully back in its place, freeing her hands to slide across her husband's chest.

"You didn't," she said. "But thank you."

Grissom smiled wider and put his glass next to Sara's, putting his free hands on the small of her back and drawing her close. She leaned into him, kissing near his ear and holding her face close to his cheek. He kept one hand pressed firmly into her back, but the other was much more gentle, sliding up into her hair and trailing down her neck.

She kissed her way over to his lips, pulling him in for a kiss. It was deep and so gentle, she let the softest of moans escape from her throat. She wanted him to kiss her like this until the end of time.

"I want you to know," Grissom murmured against her lips.

"Later," Sara murmured back, desperate for him to keep kissing her.

Grissom chuckled.

"No," he whispered, giving her a few quick kisses before pulling away. "I have something to tell you."

Sara's heart skipped a beat.

"What?"

"I want you to know," he repeated, his hand still twirling her hair lightly. "That these last few weeks have been…"

He placed a kiss near the corner of her mouth.

"So," he continued quietly. "I've decided to take a position at UNLV."

Sara pulled back abruptly.

"Here? In Vegas?"

"That's where UNLV is, honey," he chuckled.

She grabbed his head with both hands and kissed him so hard, he stumbled back a little. She couldn't stop smiling.

"What will you be doing?" she asked, breathless.

"Consulting, at first," Grissom answered. "They're looking at adding a forensics branch to their science department. They're looking for advice, how to get started…"

"You'll be perfect for it," Sara grinned.

"I thought you might approve," Grissom said.

He trailed a finger along her jaw line, from her ear to her chin.

"Thank you," Sara wavered, going from ecstatic to emotional in two seconds flat.

"Thank _you_," Grissom said.

Sara dove at him, pushing him back the remaining couple of inches to the bed.

"Hey, hey," he murmured. "Slow it down."

But Sara didn't want to slow down. She knew what she wanted and she wanted it now. Despite all of their happiness in the last couple of months, they hadn't slept together since Grissom had promised to stay in Las Vegas. He had tried to initiate a few times, but once she put on the breaks, he has stopped, point blank, and didn't question why. She was glad for that, because she wasn't sure why herself. Maybe it was the tiny piece still nagging her that this wouldn't last; her lingering, cautious doubt. But tonight, he had proved that he loved her, and she wanted to do the same.

She pulled back suddenly, keeping him in place with a flat palm.

"Stay here."

"Wait – Sara – I didn't mean that slow!" Grissom half-laughed.

Sara tossed him a teasing look, grabbed something from the dresser drawer and sneaked away to the bathroom. Pressing the door shut behind her, she shed her clothes and wiggled into Grissom's surprise – the deep purple teddy he had left behind in her drawer so long ago. She hadn't got a chance to wear it, and thought tonight was perfect for a debut.

She was already looking a little tousled, due to their frolic in the bedroom, but she shook her curls loose with her fingers and dabbed just a touch of perfume on her collarbone. Leaving her clothes on the tiled floor, she slipped back into the bedroom. When her husband's blue eyes rested on her, his expression softened, smiling.

"You're forgiven," he said. "This is worth pausing for."

Sara giggled and went to him, settling him against the pillow and sitting astride his chest.

"Where were we?" she asked huskily.

Grissom grabbed her shoulders, and her knees gave out, pushing her full weight against him. They kissed as they tumbled around, flipping each other from top to bottom to top again. The purple satin lace made her feel beautiful, but under Grissom's touch, she felt loved.

She felt an overwhelming need to feel his skin against hers, and stripped him of his shirt and pants, pressing herself to his chest. The top of the lingerie was cut low, giving even her modest breasts some cleavage. Grissom's body was warm and the feel of his soft chest hair made her own chest flush with heat.

She trailed her hands down his sides and hooked her thumbs on the elastic band of his boxers. She pulled them down as far as she could, Grissom kicking them off with his feet when she could get no further. She flipped him to the bottom and kissed his chest, then above his naval.

"Hey," Grissom said lowly. "I think I'm at a slight disadvantage here."

He rolled her beneath him with a move reminiscent of a much-younger man, and pushed the hem of the purple teddy past her waist. She'd left her underwear discarded amongst her other clothes in the bathroom, and the discovery sparked a mischievous twinkle in Grissom's eye.

He pulled the teddy up further, up and over her head, leaving her sprawled naked below him.

"We're even now," Sara murmured.

Grissom dipped between her breasts, his beard scratching against the tender flesh, and kissed every inch of the area.

"It may be quite possible," he said. "That you've gotten even more beautiful, honey."

He planted another kiss on her neck, and finally, on her lips.

"Are you ready?" he asked gruffly.

She nodded against the pillows.

His gaze never leaving hers, he lifted her leg from the mattress, hooking it around his waist, leaving her ready to accept him. She felt him smile against her lips when he slipped inside her.

She closed her eyes and moaned again, feeling her body widen to fit around him.

"Oh, God," she murmured.

He smiled wider and pressed her even closer to him, and beginning to move inside her. In the dark, Sara could hardly tell where her limbs ended and Grissom's began.

They fell into a rhythm easily, their bodies instantly molding back into the matching puzzle piece they remembered. Sara lifted her hips with each thrust, and the moment his stubble-covered chin returned to nuzzle her breast, she felt the swell of her orgasm rise deep within her.

"Gil," she panted.

"Go," he urged, nipping at her lower lip. "Go."

Her thighs trembled, and she felt all remaining control of her body flow away. Inside her, she could feel the last twitching of Grissom's own orgasm, and as she regained her breath, he kissed her damp hair.

"You really are the most beautiful thing in my life," he whispered, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I love you."

"I love you."

Both of them still flushed from sex, they gathered each other up in the other's arms, huddled close and reveling in the scent and feel of the other's body. Sara drifted off to sleep in a muddled, but happy state of mind, finally put at ease and comforted by thought of waking up beside her husband in just a few hours' time.

And then again the next day, and the next.


End file.
